“Regretted it! I am a finer, truer, better woman for having known you, Blackie.”
He gave a little contented sigh at that, and his eyes closed. When he opened them the old, whimsical smile wrinkled his face.
“This is where I get off at. It ain’t been no long trip, but sa-a-ay, girl, I’ve enjoyed every mile of the road. All kinds of scenery—all kinds of lan’scape—plain—fancy—uphill—downhill—”
I leaned forward, fearfully.
“Not—yet,” whispered Blackie. “Say Dawn—in the story books—they—always—are strong on the—good-by kiss, what?”
And as the nurse appeared in the doorway again, disapproval on her face, I stooped and gently pressed my lips to the pain-lined cheek.
CHAPTER XXI.
HAPPINESS
We laid Peter to rest in that noisy, careless, busy city that he had loved so well, and I think his cynical lips would have curled in a bitterly amused smile, and his somber eyes would have flamed into sudden wrath if he could have seen how utterly and completely New York had forgotten Peter Orme. He had been buried alive ten years before—and Newspaper Row has no faith in resurrections. Peter Orme was not even a memory. Ten years is an age in a city where epochs are counted by hours.
Now, after two weeks of Norah’s loving care, I was back in the pretty little city by the lake. I had come to say farewell to all those who had filled my life so completely in that year. My days of newspaper work were over. The autumn and winter would be spent at Norah’s, occupied with hours of delightful, congenial work, for the second book was to be written in the quiet peace of my own little Michigan town. Von Gerhard was to take his deferred trip to Vienna in the spring, and I knew that I was to go with him. The thought filled my heart with a great flood of happiness.
Together Von Gerhard and I had visited Alma Pflugel’s cottage, and the garden was blooming in all its wonder of color and scent as we opened the little gate and walked up the worn path. We found them in the cool shade of the arbor, the two women sewing, Bennie playing with the last wonderful toy that Blackie had given him. They made a serene and beautiful picture there against the green canopy of the leaves. We spoke of Frau Nirlanger, and of Blackie, and of the strange snarl of events which had at last been unwound to knit a close friendship between us. And when I had kissed them and walked for the last time in many months up the flower-bordered path, the scarlet and pink, and green and gold of that wonderful garden swam in a mist before my eyes.