He had reached the gate and his hand was upon the latch, when he heard the house door open and shut behind him and his name called softly from the steps.
He turned impulsively and stood waiting, while Betty came quickly through the lamplight that fell in squares upon the drive.
“Oh, come back, Dan, come back,” she said breathlessly.
With his hand still on the gate he faced her, frowning.
“I'd die first, Betty,” he answered.
She came swiftly up to him and stood, very pale, in the faint starlight that shone between the broken clouds. A knitted shawl was over her shoulders, but her head was bare and her hair made a glow around her face. Her eyes entreated him before she spoke.
“Oh, Dan, come back,” she pleaded.
He laughed angrily and shook his head.
“I'll die first, Betty,” he repeated. “Die! I'd die a hundred times first!”
“He is so old,” she said appealingly. “It is not as if he were young and quite himself, Dan—Oh, it is not like that—but he loves you, and he is so old.”