Barry straightened himself out as he sat, thrust his hands into his trousers pockets, and stared hard at the back of the seat in front of him. Something in the last phrase that had left his lips had set his brain to whirling again. The rector laid a comforting hand on his knee.
“You are very kind to tell me this,” he said. “You have a big and generous heart, Barry. We can each mourn over her fate, without entrenching on the domain of the other.”
Apparently Barry did not hear him. He was still staring at the back of the seat, and the muscles of his jaws could be seen moving under the pallid skin of his face. But he roused himself, after a moment, and said:
“I told her I would; sure I would. And then, Farrar, do you know what she did? Do you know?”
“No, Barry.”
“Well—I wouldn’t whisper it to another human being but you, you know that, it’s too—sacred.”
His voice choked a little, but he went on:
“Well—she put her arms around my neck—and kissed me.”
He did not give way to tears nor manifest any of the usual signs of emotion. But on his face was a look of awe and tenderness, as if some holy and wonderful vision had just been revealed to his mortal eyes.
At the junction the rector bade him Godspeed, and left him to continue his journey alone. But, somehow, the sight and expression of Barry’s dull and simple grief had served to soften the harsh musings with which the minister’s own mind was filled.