“I am so sorry.” Just conventional words they were; but the look and the tone told me how straight from her gentle heart they came and how intensely she was feeling. “You are ill. Sit down again.” She did not use any name now, and I noticed the omission. I was no longer Burgwan; and already the restraint of our altered relations was making itself felt. But she moved as if to make place for me on the fallen tree.
“I am not ill now, thank you; and I think it is time for you to go.” I glanced at my watch. “Yes, it is quite time.”
She sat on a moment, her eyes closed, and then sighed deeply and rose. Chris got up with her and she bent down and fondled him.
“Good-bye, Chris, dear, faithful friend, good-bye,” she murmured, and kissed his head.
“You will not take him?” I asked.
“Not now. No. I—I cannot. I should think of—of this.” Then with a smile: “He will be so much happier with you.” She stooped and kissed him again.
“It is better so, perhaps.” I said. “But just as you will.”
She was very quiet and calm now, and turning from the dog, she held out her hand to me, with a brave smile.
“Good-bye. You have not told me how to address you.”
I took the white trembling fingers, and held them a moment with a slight pressure, which was returned.