"Has anything happened?—Dale, or anything?"
He must have found some difficulty in evading this direct question, and his hesitation, brief though it was, alarmed her.
"No, my dear. I cannot say that anything has happened. I may be growing a little uncertain of him—that is, I may be afraid—oh, bother! It is nothing but an old man's fancy!"
Nevertheless, when later, calling the mountaineer's name, she stepped through the library window, an element of uncertainty, quite a different sort from that which the Colonel was congratulating himself upon having so deftly hid, filled her heart with a vague foreboding.
Dale was mumbling aloud as he read, and did not hear her; but a slight pressure on his shoulder brought him slowly back from scenes of carnage, and he looked up into her face, smiling down at him.
"Stop awhile, and speak to Mac! Your eyes seem tired!"
"They're not. That was a great man—that Pompey!"
"Great," she agreed, a trifle piqued that he ignored her dog.
"Those fights," he said tensely, "were the biggest things a feller ever did!"
"He did something bigger than conquering men," she told him.