“A little,” I replied, as I grasped his other hand, in heartiness to have him back once more.
There were tears in my eyes. I did not try to hide them, for Carteret had been more than a brother to me; his good wife a very mother to Lucille. I think he felt my gratitude, for he did not speak, only returning my hand pressure.
“Well,” he said again, after a little pause, while we walked on together toward his house, “this is better than being cooped up in the block, with those devils howling on the outside. Though,” he added, with a laugh, “we soon made them change their tune.”
He asked me how long I had suffered from the attack of Simon, and what had become of the sailor. I told him what I had heard.
“I did not like to leave you,” he said, “but the call for me was urgent. I thought I left you in safe hands, when Mistress Lucille took charge of the nursing.”
“You did, indeed,” I replied.
“How is she; and how progresses your courtship?”
“Very well, to both questions. Since your kindness in turning this command over to me I have been assured of a livelihood; quiet, perhaps, compared to what I hoped for, but a sure one. ’Tis a place befitting a man who is about to take unto himself a wife.”
“Then you are soon to wed?”
“Within a fortnight. Lucille is busy now, preparing what she is pleased to term her linen. As for me I have little to get. I trust that from my wage here I can fit up some small house that will do for a time. I had hopes of taking her to a place befitting her station, to a fine home. But poverty is a hard taskmaster.”