Falkenberg did call, half an hour after those words had passed between Ellen and her mistress. Ellen repeated them to him, and ushered him into the parlour, where Sara lay on the couch, looking infinitely weak and exhausted, and scarcely able to lift a hand, or to smile faintly, when the tall, strong man came softly up to her; his face working, his eyes dim.
‘You have been very good–unspeakably good,’ she said weakly, as he bent speechlessly over her hand. ‘Ellen has told me of your great goodness,’ she added, in a stronger voice.
‘There is no goodness–there has been nothing but the pleasure I have felt in gratifying my own wishes,’ he said, in a husky, broken voice.
‘It is good to see your face again, and to hear your voice, after the Valley of the Shadow of Death,’ she replied, her hollow eyes dwelling, with an expression of something like curiosity, upon his face.
‘Do not let us speak of that. You are here once more in the light of life–to work, and hope, and make us glad again.’
She shook her head slowly.
‘You are far wiser than I am,’ she answered, ‘so I will not contradict you.’
‘But in the meantime, you disagree with me from beginning to end,’ he said, regaining his composure gradually. ‘You feel that hope and work are over for you.’
‘Yes, I feel as if I did not want to see the light of the sun any more.’
‘Nor to talk or think about anything again?’ he suggested, and his voice trembled; he trembled himself–his heart was in his throat.