“I've done nothing,” he interrupted brusquely.
“You risked your life—”
An impatient exclamation broke from him.
“And if I did? I risked something of no value, I assure you—to myself, or any one else.”
Then he added practically—
“Get Jane Crab to give you some hot soup and go to bed. You look absolutely done.”
Sara nodded, smiling more naturally.
“I will,” she said. “Good-night, then.” She held out her hand a little nervously.
He took it, holding it closely in his, and looking down at her with the strange expression of a man who strives to impress upon his mind the picture of a face he may not see again, so that in a lonely future he shall find comfort in remembering.
“Good-bye!” he said, at last, very gravely. Then a queer little smile, half-bitter, half-tender, curving his lips, he added: “I shall always have this one day for which to thank whatever gods there be.”