“Yes, one more,” he said, as he held Leonard’s hand, tightly. “Is—is she well, Len?”
Leonard nodded.
“Yes, I think so——”
“That’s all,” said Jack, resolutely. “Good-night, Len, good-night,” and he turned away quickly.
Leonard stole into Jack’s room several times that night and looked down upon the tired, weary face, still handsome for all its lines and haggardness, handsomer some might have thought, for suffering sets a seal of dignity upon a man’s face if there be sterling stuff in him. Leonard looked down at it pityingly.
“Poor old man; he has had a hard time of it if any man has.”
Jack turned up at breakfast time looking much refreshed.
“First good night’s rest I’ve had since—oh, too long to remember, Len. Dreamed that all that has happened was only a dream, and that I was waking up and going to see——” he broke off suddenly and sighed.
Leonard was delighted to see him so much better.
“We’ll leave town directly, Jack,” he said. “I’ve just done my usual batch of work, and am free. We’ll spend our Christmas at some old inn——”