‘Good-bye,’ says she.
‘Obedient child.’ But as he holds her hand and looks at her, he can see the rings that grief has made around her beautiful eyes.
Seeing him still waiting, as if for a larger answer, as she thinks, though in reality he is only silent because of his studying of her sad sweet face with its tears and its courage, so terrible in one so young, she says tremulously, ‘I have not even thanked you!’
‘That is not it,’ says Crosby. ‘There is nothing to thank me for, but there is something, Susan, you might say. Tell me that you will miss me a little bit whilst I’m away.’
Susan’s hand trembles within his, but answer makes she none.
‘Well?’ says he again, as if determined not to be defrauded of his rights by this child—this pretty child. She may not love him, but surely she may miss him.
Susan raises her eyes, and he can see that they are filled with tears.
‘Oh, I shall!’ says she earnestly. ‘I shall miss you, and long for your return.’
This fervid speech is so unlike Susan, that all at once he arranges a meaning for it. Of course, Bonnie will be with him; she will long for the child’s return. If he resents a little this thought of Susan’s for Bonnie, to the entire exclusion of himself, he still admires the affection that has inspired it and that desolates her lovely face.
‘Susan, I shall take care of him,’ says he earnestly. ‘Trust me in this matter. If human skill can do anything for him, I shall see that it is done; if care and watching and attention are of any use, he shall have them from me.’