"It is for you, Hugh. Stand still a moment and I will pin it in your button-hole."
Hugh's pleased and gratified look defies description as he obeys orders, and stands looking down at the busy little fingers while they deftly fasten the bud in his coat.
"I shall never—" he is beginning to say, when Molly cuts his remark short.
"There is Honor!" she cries; "she shall help us to put all these in water," and running down the path she leaves him to follow.
In the evening, after supper, there is a little music. Molly plays, and Hugh sings one or two songs with a voice that trembles a little sometimes, Molly, after a slight skirmish on the subject, accompanying him.
Then Honor nobly struggles through a pianoforte duet with her younger sister by way of a change, her modest bass sounding rather feeble in comparison with Molly's spirited treble. It is only Schulhoff's "Grand Waltz" they are playing; nevertheless, Honor quakes when they come to the last two or three pages; but she centres all her hopes on Molly, and, amidst plenty of laughter (for Hugh and Dick are both in attendance to turn over), she is landed safely by her at the last chord. Then Dick sings, but notwithstanding the efforts made by every one to be cheerful their spirits seem to go down lower and lower as the evening advances; and when, after a long unbroken silence, Hugh suddenly seats himself at the piano, and sings with simple expression and pathos Hatton's "Good-bye, Sweetheart," tears rise to the eyes of nearly every one in the room.
It is a relief almost when Hugh rises and says he must be leaving. Mrs. Merivale having suggested that Honor and Molly shall walk down to the gate with him, and sent them on before, takes an affectionate leave of the young fellow, saying as she does so, "We will not let her forget you, dear Hugh." He is too much overcome to speak, but the look of gratitude upon his face as he stoops and kisses her is understood and appreciated by Mrs. Merivale.
The two girls are standing quietly by the gate when Hugh reaches it, and for a moment he stands beside them, silent also. Then he turns to the elder girl:
"Good-bye, Honor," he says gently. "You will let me hear everything that goes on, won't you?—all about Doris too; and tell her, with my love, how sorry I was not to see her again. I will write pretty often; as often as I can that is, unless I am knocked over by the Arabs one day." Then he kisses her and moves towards Molly, who, a little pale and very quiet, is leaning against the gate-post. He takes her two hands in his, and looks earnestly into her face for a moment. Then—
"God bless you, Molly!" he says brokenly. "Don't forget me!" and stooping he presses a lingering kiss almost reverently upon her forehead, and—the gate swings back and he is gone.