But Mrs. Cameron pushed roughly at her shoulder. 'Come here,' she said hoarsely; 'change places with me. Don't fall—there, hold fast. Let me get lower down.'
A man was fighting his way through the throng—a grey-bearded man in a well-cut light grey suit and a white helmet; and such was his determination that five minutes after Mrs. Cameron had seen him he had worked his way through twenty yards of solid crowd and was standing just below her.
Mrs. Cameron turned to the musician who had been at much pains to secure a little room for himself on the timber.
'Mr. Jardine,' she said, 'will you please get down and give up your place to my husband? I—I have not seen him for six years.'
Jardine climbed down cheerfully—but also of necessity. Cameron pulled himself into the vacant place.
They were side by side at last, and neither could speak; they just looked at each other with white faces—looked, looked.
Finally their hands went together.
A choked little voice came from above after a minute or two.
'Me too, daddie—speak to me too.' And it was then he remembered his child as well as his wife was come back to him.
He reached up and squeezed the eager hand, he put his other hand round her little shoe and squeezed that too. Challis leaned down and kissed the top of his helmet.