'She was glad?'
'I hope so. I hope so indeed.'
'What then, Cuthbert? Did she know you?'
He leant down his head on the table, and suddenly burst into tears. My whole heart went back to him.
'Cuthbert—what is it?'
He spoke almost directly. 'I am a worn-out old soldier. I have lost my arm. I am good for nothing now, and I think she was disappointed in me.'
Oh Cuthbert, whom in my heart I had almost hated just now—true soldier, faithful heart—to see his brave head bent low. He should be happy whatever became of me.
I told him to be comforted, that all would be well, and by-and-by he began to believe what he so much wished. 'I have looked forward to this for so long,' he said. 'I have had so much hardship and suffering. For two years we were in an Indian prison, and I should not have cared to live, only for the thought that Hildred would grieve for me. And now to see her so changed, so white and strange.'
'You frightened her, poor child. Remember that she had long given up the hope of seeing you again.'
'You had not.'