CHAPTER VII
Armstrong had arranged to start for Evansville four days before Christmas. He and Dorothy were to leave New York by a night train.
That same morning, he learned something that staggered him, frightened him, yet filled him with a great veneration and joy. When he looked across the breakfast-table at Dorothy, when he met the consuming happiness of her eyes, she had suddenly become like another person to him—another and more wondrous woman.
"You're not afraid?" he asked.
"Afraid? Good heavens, no! Reese, I'm the happiest woman on earth! Aren't you glad? You don't look it. You look frightened."
"I am, for your sake," he said, and smiled. "Oh, I'm happy too! I want to tell every one—"
"Don't you dare!"
"Oh, I shan't. But I should think you'd dread the long months ahead, and all the pain and suffering—"
Dorothy silenced him with a peremptory gesture as the maid appeared. Then, when they were alone again, she laughed gayly at him.
"You funny man! Everything's going to be wonderful—even the suffering. It's all we need to make us really happy, to give us a real home! Now, don't say another word about it, or that maid will suspect. You pay attention to breakfast or you'll miss your train."