“Ah,” thought Wyn, “Mr Edgar would like that sort of Paradise.”
Later in the day Alwyn asked Harry Whittaker to meet him in the park and walk with him through the wood. He had several matters, he told him, to talk about.
But when they met he put his arm through his old comrade’s, and walked on for a long time in silence. At last Harry said:
“Things have been different from what we looked for, sir, haven’t they? But there’s comfort waiting at home for us. At least, it seems like home over there now to me.”
“Ah, yes,” said Alwyn. “I have gained more than I ever thought for. But I don’t seem able to think of anything now but my poor boy and the lonely years that I might have made brighter for him if I had not held out so long.”
“You came when he most wanted you,” said Harry.
“Yes, thank God for that! But he had been lonely, though he was such a plucky fellow that he hardly knew it. And I miss—”
Alwyn’s voice faltered, and he brushed his hand across his eyes.
“That was not what I wanted to talk of,” he said, rousing himself. “What are your plans, Harry? I must not hurry away from my father; but I shall soon be going back now—for a time, at least.”
“I am ready to go back at once,” said Harry. “I’ve heard from my wife, and she’s willing to have my sister Florence out to live with us.”