Becky’s weeping was of short duration; there was too much at stake; and so, still lying on the captain’s breast, with his arm about her, softly and gently she spoke of Harry; of his kindness to her; of his brave deeds; of the love he had gained from all who knew him; of his devotion to his mother; rehearsed incidents in his college life; brought out of his boyhood history little scraps of goodness so carefully treasured in her grateful heart. If she had been pleading for Harry’s life, she could not have been more earnest and determined in the recital of his virtues. And the captain sat there, listening, saying nothing; and the little pleader babbled on, unaware that at the captain’s heart the old obstinate roots were being plucked from their bed; that the warmth of his new love was flowing in thawing out the long-frozen channel of paternal affection.
The cars reached Foxtown, and still the captain said nothing. The carriage was in waiting, and an hour’s ride took them to Cleverly. The captain was silent all the way. Phil drove straight on to the Sleeper house. It was twelve o’clock. There was a light in the sitting-room. At the sound of wheels, Mrs. Thompson came to the door. The curtain was drawn aside, and Becky saw Harry peering out into the darkness. She jumped from the carriage.
“Won’t you come in, captain?” said Becky.
The captain shook his head.
“I shall come up to see you to-morrow, to thank you for being so kind to-day. O, I’ve had a splendid time. Good night.”
She approached the carriage, and held out her hand. The captain grasped it.
“I shall come up to-morrow, captain. Shall I come alone?”
Becky’s voice trembled. She had been trying hard for a triumph. She feared she had failed.
“No, Becky, no. God bless you, child! Bring him with you; bring Harry home!”