"Leave me," said the poor creature, "leave me here, mother. I would rather go in alone—quite alone—it will be easier."
Mrs. Allen hesitated, but Tom came up with one of his clinching arguments.
"It's nigh on to morning, Mrs. Allen, and we are only doing her hurt. If she goes in alone they wont have the heart to send her off, but if we all stand here ready to go farther, they'd tell us to keep on just as like as not."
"He is right, mother," said Katharine, faintly. "Give me one kiss—God will help me—have no fear."
The old woman pressed her cold lips to that still colder face, and went away, looking mournfully behind, from time to time, until a bend of the road took her out of sight.
CHAPTER XL.
TAKEN IN FROM THE COLD.
The old couple were in bed, but not sleeping. Since the return of their son, weary, broken nights and most anxious days had marked the lives of these blameless people. It had been very hard to part with their son when he almost seemed domesticated with them. It had been hard to expect him back, day after day, and always with keen disappointment following the morning's hope. But more bitter than all was the news that had reached them within the last few days. Nelson had sailed again—sailed on a long voyage into those seas which take the youth out of a man before he returns.
How could they help being wakeful? Were they not worse than childless? Of the grave they knew something—its length, its depth, and how long it required for the green turf to spring up and draw the uncouth mound back into the loving bosom of nature. But what did they know of those far off waters where ships were lost in immensity, and fishes of monstrous size tempted men away from their homes. A whaling voyage—that was like a life banishment to an old couple who had so many gray hairs on their temples.
They could not sleep, though each kind heart strove to cheat the other—both were wakeful and miserably anxious.