I don’t know just how wild I looked while I sat there, but I know I felt wild. Then Kama Holstrom came into the room.
I was conscious that my features were not obeying my volition. I had not been able to make that clacking tongue of mine behave; now my face was just as disobedient. I wanted with all my heart to beam gratitude and joy on her, but I seemed to be trying to manage a stiff mask. If she had turned and escaped in sheer fright I would not have blamed her.
I entirely mistook the expression on her face when she stood there and stared at me. Her eyes were wide with what appeared to be terror. Her lips parted and her cheeks grew pale. Then she ran to the side of the bed, plumped down on her knees, set both her little hands about one of mine and cried, “Thank the good God! You have come back—you have come back!”
And that’s how a woman knows.
The balm of her tears bathed my hand when she put her forehead down and hid her face. It was not white any longer—the warm color flooded it and I ought to have been content for a time with what I could bring in the compass of my gaze. But I wanted to have a blessing from her eyes, and when I struggled to lift her face she suddenly released my hand and hurried to the window and sat down.
“I didn’t mean to make a fool of myself that way,” she panted. “But when I saw your eyes I knew you had come back—and it has been so long—and the others haven’t understood!”
“When I came to myself, just now, Kama, your father was here and I didn’t confess to him. What I know now and what you have known all along we must keep to ourselves.”
“Yes! Nobody has believed what I was so sure of!”
We sat there in silence for a long time.
“Do you remember?” she asked, almost whispering the question.