Cutty rose and pushed the invalid's chair to a window and drew another up beside it.
“My word, the top of the world! Bally odd roost.”
“You will find it safer here than you would on the shores of Kaspuskoi More,” replied Cutty, gravely. “The Caspian wouldn't be a healthy place for you now.”
With wide eyes Hawksley stared across the shining, wavering roofs. A pause. “What do you know?” he asked, faintly.
“Everything. But wait!” Cutty fetched one of the photographs and laid it upon the young man's knees. “Know who this is—Two-Hawks?”
A strained, tense gesture as Hawksley seized the photograph; then his chin sank slowly to his chest. A moment later Cutty was profoundly astonished to see something sparkle on its way down the bed quilt. Tears!
“I'm sorry!” cried Cutty, troubled and embarrassed. “I'm terribly sorry! I should have had the decency to wait a day or two.”
“On the contrary, thank you!” Hawksley flung up his head. “Nothing in all God's muddied world could be more timely—the face of my mother! I am not ashamed of these tears. I am not afraid to die. I am not even afraid to live. But all the things I loved—the familiar earth, the human beings, my dog—gone. I am alone.”
“I'm sorry,” repeated Cutty, a bit choked up. This was honest misery and it affected him deeply. He felt himself singularly drawn.
“I want to live. Because I am young? No. I want to prove to the shades of those who loved me that I am fit to go on. So my identity is known to you?”—dejectedly.