"I'll do my best, sir."
"He knows that I cannot send him any letters."
"And, and—letters for you?"
She thought of the letter which Harriet Wesden, in her sleepless bed, might be pondering upon then. Of the new trouble which he seemed to guess not; for immediately afterwards he said—
"Keep the letters till I come back—and give my love to Harriet; tell her I shall think of her every hour of the day and night. I wrote to her the last thing this evening. Now, good-bye, old girl, and wish me luck."
"The best of luck, Mr. Sidney—with all my heart!"
"Luck in the distance—luck when I come back again, and see it shining in my Harriet's eyes. Ah! it won't do!" he added, with a stamp of his foot.
"I'll pray for it sir," cried Mattie; "we can't tell what may happen for the best, or what is for the best, however it may trouble us at first."
"Spoken like the parson at the corner shop," he said, a little irreverently. "Bravo, Mattie—honest believer!"
He passed from the shop into his cab, glancing at the up-stairs windows, and waving his hand for a moment towards his father, waiting anxiously there to see the last of him.