Lassie looked at her with freshly awakened anxiety.
"Oh, don't look at me that way," she begged; "that is the very hardest of all—to have those to whom you talk regard you as if you were mad."
"But you astonish me so. Last night you were so frightened."
"Last night some struggle was on, my dear; this morning it is settled." She stopped and spoke very slowly. "I think, perhaps, that he knows now that he can never come to the house," she said, and although her lips quivered slightly her voice was clear and composed.
"Alva," Lassie cried, in sudden horror, "you think that he is dead—that is what you think."
As soon as the words had passed her lips, she was frightened at her own temerity; but Alva, whose back was towards her, now turned towards her smiling.
"He is not dead," she said; "he was thinking of me all last night and this morning. He is not dead. That I know."
"How can you be sure?"
"When people love as we do, they can be very sure. I was awfully shaken last night, Lassie; I confess it. Something big, that we shall know all about later, hung in the balance and I trembled. But it's settled now."
There came a tap at the door just then, announcing Mary Cody with their hot water.