"Don't want any; I'm all right. I'll not be home till we're out of this, you know. Good-bye, my girl." And he was gone, back to the bedside. She knew, without being told, that he had hardly left it.
Thirty-six hours had gone by, and Ellen and Jordan King had had many messages from the hospital before the one came which eased their anxious minds: "Out of immediate danger." It was almost another thirty-six before Burns came home.
She had never seen him look more radiantly happy, though the shadows under his eyes were heavy, and there were lines of fatigue about his mouth. Although she had been watching for him he took her by surprise at last, coming upon her in the early morning just as she was descending the stairs. With both arms around her, as she stood on the bottom stair, he looked into her eyes.
"The game's worth the candle, Len," he said.
"Even though you've been burning the candle at both ends, dear? Yes, I know it is. I'm so glad—so glad!"
"We're sworn friends, Van and I. Can you believe it? Len, he's simply the finest ever."
She smiled at him. "I'm sure you think so; it's just what you would think, my generous boy."
"I'll prove it to you by and by, when I've had a wink of sleep. A bath, breakfast, and two hours of rest—then I'll be in service again. Van's resting comfortably, practically out of danger, and—Len, his eyes remind me of a sick child's who has waked out of a delirium to find his mother by his side."
"Is that the way his eyes look when they meet yours?"
He nodded. "Of course. That's how I know."