CHAPTER XXXI
SALLY DECIDES
The clarion call of Mrs. Halliday’s big red rooster announcing fervently his discovery of a thin streak of silver light in the east brought Don to his elbow with a start. For a moment he could not place himself, and then, as he realized where he was and what this day meant for him, he took a long deep breath.
“In the morning,” she had said.
Technically it was now morning, though his watch informed him that it was not yet five. By now, then, she had made her decision. Somewhere in this old house, perhaps within sound of his voice, she was waiting with the verdict that was to decide whether he was going back to New York the happiest or the unhappiest man in all Christendom. No, that was not quite right either. Even if she said “No” that would not decide it. It would mean only another day of waiting, because he was going to keep right on trying to make her 295 understand––day after day, all summer and next winter and the next summer if necessary. He was going to do that because, if he ever let go of this hope, then he would be letting go of everything.
He found it quite impossible to sleep again and equally impossible to lie there awake. Jumping from bed he dressed, shaved, and went downstairs, giving Mrs. Halliday the start of her life when he came upon her as she was kindling the kitchen fire.
“Land sakes alive,” she gasped, “I didn’t expect to see you for a couple hours.”
“I know it’s early,” he answered uncomfortably; “I don’t suppose Sally is up?”