Hilda pressed her palms together, and stared silently at him. Mr. Odd’s face looked so much older; its gravity made her heart stand still with an altogether new sense of calamity. She stood helplessly before him, tears brimming to her eyes.
“My dear child, what is the matter? You positively frightened me.”
“I came to say ‘Good-bye,’” said Hilda brokenly.
Peter’s gravity was mere astonishment and sympathetic dismay. The tear-brimmed eyes, after his weeks of solitary brooding, filled him with a most exquisite rush of pity and tenderness.
“Come here, you dear child,” he said, holding out his arms to her; “you came to say ‘Good-bye?’ I am very grateful to you.”
Hilda leaned her head against his shoulder and wept. After the frozen nightmare moment, the old kindness was a delicious contrast; she almost forgot the purport of her journey, though she knew that she was crying. Odd stroked her long hair; her tears slightly amused and slightly alarmed him, even while the pathos of the affection they revealed touched him deeply.
“Did you come alone?” he asked.
Hilda nodded.
“That was a very plucky thing to do. I thank you for it. There, can’t you smile at me? Don’t cry.”
“Oh, I love you so much, I can hardly bear it.” Peter felt uncomfortable. The capacity for suffering revealed in these words gave him a sense of responsibility. Poor child! Would her lot in life be to cry over people who were not worth it?