'They told him that poor Cuthbert was among the missing.'
'Only missing,' said my father, leaning forward; 'not killed.'
I paused a moment. It had not struck me before.
'But then it's the same thing, for sure,' my father went on eagerly, 'quite the same thing. It's just the way they put it. I didn't mean to throw a doubt on his being killed, mind, Willie.'
'Moore did say missing.'
'Ay, missing or killed. 'Tis the same thing. Now don't you go and fash yourself for a word. The poor lad's killed, sure enough. There's no manner of doubt about that.'
He bent over and touched my arm, to enforce his words. I could see he was vexed with himself for having asked the question, and wanted to make me forget it.
'I suppose they would have known,' I said, after thinking over it, and the hope that had glimmered for an instant went out again—not quite, though. The certainty was shaken since it had been questioned; and yet David Moore had seemed to have no doubt. 'He's dead, you know;' I remembered his words well.
'To be sure they knew,' said my father, watching me, as I saw, 'I've thought myself how it would be this long time past. I never looked to see him come home again.'
My father seldom troubled himself to speak so much. It was almost too much for the object he wanted to gain, of lulling my doubts to rest. By-and-by, he said rather hesitatingly, 'I say, lad, you wouldn't go and tell Hildred what we've been talking of. It'll just unsettle her again for nothing.'