She came to meet him; Foy and the Major waited by the horses. "John!" she said. "Faithful John!" She sought his hands.
"There now, honey—don't take on so! Don't! It's all right! You know what the poet says:
"Cast your bread upon the waters
And you may live to say:
'Oh, how I wish I had the crust
That once I threw away!'"
Her throat was pulsing swiftly; her eyes were brimming with tears, bruised for lost sleep.
"Dearest and kindest friend! When I think what you have done for me—that you faced shame worse than death—guarded by unprovable honor—John! John!"
"Why, you mustn't, honey—you mustn't do that! Why, Stella, you're crying—for me! You mustn't do that, Little Next Door!"
"If you had been killed, taking Chris—or after you gave him up—no one but me would have ever believed but that you meant it."
"But you believed, Stella?"
"Oh, I knew! I knew!"
"Even when you first heard of it?"