“Good-bye, Mr. Dunn,” and she gave him her hand.
He held it tight for a moment, so that she could not draw it away,—could not if she would. “Will you tell your mother?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered, quite in a whisper. “I guess I’d better tell her.” And then she gave a long sigh. He pressed her hand again and got it up to his lips.
“Mr. Dunn, don’t,” she said. But he did kiss it. “God bless you, my own dearest, dearest girl! I’ll just open the door as I come down. Perhaps Mrs. Bell will be here.” And then he rushed up stairs.
But Mrs. Bell did not come in. She and Hetta were at a weekly service at Mr. Beckard’s meeting-house, and Mr. Beckard it seemed had much to say. Susan, when left alone, sat down and tried to think. But she could not think; she could only love. She could use her mind only in recounting to herself the perfections of that demigod whose heavy steps were so audible overhead, as he walked to and fro collecting his things and putting them into his bag.
And then, just when he had finished, she bethought herself that he must be hungry. She flew to the kitchen, but she was too late. Before she could even reach at the loaf of bread he descended the stairs, with a clattering noise, and heard her voice as she spoke quickly to Kate O’Brien.
“Miss Susan,” he said, “don’t get anything for me, for I’m off.”
“Oh, Mr. Dunn, I am so sorry. You’ll be so hungry on your journey,” and she came out to him in the passage.
“I shall want nothing on the journey, dearest, if you’ll say one kind word to me.”
Again her eyes went to the ground. “What do you want me to say, Mr. Dunn?”