“Good-bye!”
The Girl’s face wore a puzzled look, and she told him that he acted as if they were never going to meet again.
“An’ we are, we are, ain’t we?” she questioned eagerly.
A faint little smile hovered about the corners of the road agent’s mouth when presently he answered:
“Why, surely we are....”
His words cleared her face instantly.
“I want you to think o’ me here jest waitin’,” she said. “You was the first—there’ll never be anyone but you. Why, you’re the man I’d want sittin’ across the table if there was a little kid like I was playin’ under it. I can’t say no more ’n that. Only you—you will—you must get through safe an’ come back—an’ well, think o’ me here jest waitin’, jest waitin’, waitin’....”
At these words a tightness gripped the man’s throat, and in the silence that followed the tears ran steadily down his cheeks.
“Oh, Girl, Girl,” at last he said, “that first night I went to your cabin I saw you kneeling, praying. Say that in your heart again for me now. Perhaps I believe it—perhaps I don’t.... I hope I do—I want to—but say it, say it, Girl, just for the luck of it—say it....”
Quickly the Girl crossed herself, and while she sent a silent prayer to Heaven Johnson knelt at her knees, his head bowed low.