A wave of warmth passed through him; he stood still, looking at her; and presently her bowed figure slowly straightened; her pale face relaxed into a smile. Without waking her, he went on into the nursery, where the lights were still burning. But here the lights shone only on three little ones, lying in their clean night-clothes, asleep.
He went back to the dining-room; more lights, and a table laid for two, a snowy cloth and flowers, and a single carnation stuck into his napkin—that must be from Louise—little Louise.
At last Merle was awakened by the touch of his hand on her shoulder.
“Oh, are you there?”
“Good-evening, Merle!” They embraced, and he kissed her forehead. But she could see that his mind was busy with other things.
They sat down to table, and began their meal. She could read the expression of his face, his voice, his calm air—she knew they meant bad news.
But she would not question him. She would only try to show him that all things else could be endured, if only they two loved each other.
But the time had passed when an unexpected caress from her was enough to send him wild with joy. She sat there now trembling inwardly with suspense, wondering if he would notice her—if he could find any comfort in having her with him, still young and with something of her beauty left.
He looked over to her with a far-away smile. “Merle,” he asked, “what do you think your father is worth altogether?” The words came like a quiet order from a captain standing on the bridge, while his ship goes down.
“Oh, Peer, don’t think about all that to-night. Welcome home!” And she smiled and took his hand.