Her heart jumped and the blood surged back again, and she grew weak, but the old man laughed his cheery laugh, and, pretending to clap her playfully on the shoulder, he held her firmly with his great iron hand, as he saw the blood go out of her cheeks, leaving them as white as white roses:
“Down there,” he added, “I'll tell you all. But God is good—God is good.”
Bewildered, pale, and with throbbing heart, she let him take her basket and lead her down the well-beaten path. She could not speak, for something, somehow, said to her that Captain Tom Travis was alive and that she would see him—next week perhaps—next month or year—it mattered not so that she would see him. And yet—and yet—O all these years—all these years! She kept saying over the words of the old Bishop, as one numbed, and unable to think, keeps repeating the last thing that enters the mind. Trembling, white, her knees weak beneath her, she followed saying:
“God is good—oh, Bishop—tell me—why—why—why—”
“Because Cap'n Tom is not dead, Miss Alice, he is alive and well.”
They had reached the large oak which shadowed the little cabin. She stopped suddenly in the agony of happiness, and the strong old man, who had been watching her, turned and caught her with a firm grasp, while the stars danced frantically above her. And half-unconscious she felt another one come to his aid, one who took her in his arms and kissed her lips and her eyes
... and carried her into the bright fire-lighted
cabin, ... carried her in strength and happiness that made her lay her cheek against his, ... and there were tears on it, and somehow she lay as if she were a child in his arms, ... a child again and she was happy, ... and there were silence and sweet dreams and the long-dead smell of the crepe-myrtle.... She did not remember again until she sat up on the cot in the clean little cabin, and Tom Travis, tall and in the splendor of manhood, sat holding her hands and stroking her hair and whispering: “Alice, my darling—it is all well—and I have come back for you, at last!”
And the old servants stood around smiling and happy, but so silent and composed that she knew that they had been schooled to it, and a big man, who seemed to watch Captain Tom as a big dog would his master, kept blowing his nose and walking around the room. And by the fire sat the old Cottontown preacher, his back turned to them and saying just loud enough to be heard: “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures, ... he restoreth my soul— ... my cup runneth over....”
And then sillily, as Alice thought, she threw her arms around the neck of the man she loved and burst into the tears which brought the sweetness of assurance, the calmness of a reality that meant happiness.
And for an hour she sobbed, her arms there, and he holding her tight to his breast and talking in the old way, natural and soothing and reassuring and taking from her heart all fear and the shock of it, until at last it all seemed natural and not a dream, ... and the sweetness of it all was like the light which cometh with the joy of the morning.