"It was nothing," I said. "Nothing. There was no real danger. Thank Long.
He was with me. He is a better man than I."
"Oh, yes," she cried, "they are all better men than you, I dare say! Do not provoke me, sir, or you will have me quarreling with you before I have said what I came here to say. Can you guess what that is?" and she paused again, to look at me with a great light in her eyes.
But I was far past replying. I gazed up at her, bewildered, dazzled. I had never known this woman.
"I see you cannot guess," she said. "Of course you cannot guess! How could you, knowing me as you have known me? 'Tis this. Riverview is yours, Tom, and shall be always yours from this day forth, as of right it has ever been."
Riverview mine? No, no, I did not want Riverview. It was something else I wanted.
"I shall not take it, aunt," I said quite firmly. "I am going to make a name for myself,—with my sword, you know," I added with a smile, "and when I have once done that, there is something else which I shall ask you for, which will be dearer to me—oh, far dearer—than a hundred Riverviews."
What ailed the women? Here was Dorothy too on her knees and kissing my bandaged hand.
"Oh, Tom, Tom," she cried, "do you not understand?"
"Understand?" I repeated blankly. "Understand what, Dorothy?"
"Don't you remember, dear, what happened just before the troops came?"