“Why no, dear,” he faltered, “not yet. But that’s why I’ve come.”
She paled a little, but her voice and her eyes were brave. “It doesn’t matter—nothing matters, now that you have come back to me. Oh, I’m so glad—I’ve missed you so, Hugh—I’ve missed you so”—the bravery had died in a little girlish wail.
“My dear”—it was all he could say.
“Where have you been all these months?” she asked, pushing him to a chair, and kneeling beside him, her arms on his knee.
“When I left here that night”—he laid a hand on her hair—“and had to give up my commission, I went straight to a recruiting office—and joined up as a private, under another name.”
“And now,” she said with a soft laugh, laying her cheek against the stripes on his sleeve, “you’re a sergeant. You have been to the front?” The young voice was very proud as she said it. Her man had given battle.
“I went almost at once.”
“And I never knew.” How much she had missed!
“It wasn’t until a few weeks ago I learned of Uncle Dick’s death,” Hugh said gently.
“He died that night, Hugh,” Helen whispered—“just there—in the hall.”