"You needn't tell me; I know," she told him.
"We've got a chance," he now explained. "It looks bad, I know, but we've got a chance. I guess we've got an even chance."
"We didn't think it would be like this when we left the harbor at home, did we?" she continued. "It was like a spring day, and the buds were getting red. I said the leaves would be full grown when we got back—I said so to mother." She choked back a sob.
"Don't, dear!" he pleaded. "Don't! You shall see them yet. You shall live to grow old among your trees, Hetty."
"But if I don't," she persisted, "and—anything happens, will you try to get to me? I don't want to go alone, shut up down here."
"Yes," he answered solemnly; "I'll get to you. But we're going to pull through—really."
"You will not forget!" she insisted.
He laughed softly.
"Do I ever forget you?" he asked
"No," she said; "no—and I am glad."