“You saw it, too?”
He nodded, looking at her strangely. “Yes, that time the soldiers went by, an’ I stood on the side of the street an’ let them pass; an’ another time too, when we were at the pictures, an’ there were American boys goin’ up to the front. There was one—”
But she would not let him finish. His look frightened her. It was aloof and far away as it had been when he watched the line of marching men go by. She caught his hand and began to talk very fast.
“Oh, Tim,” she begged, “think of Miss Fogg! She’s getting better: I know she is. She kissed my hand to-day an’ said I’d given her back life.”
“Julie—” he began again, but again she cut him short.
“Think what our love’s done,” she persisted. “It’s given life to her: it’s our love that’s done it.”
His expression was still aloof, and he struggled once more to speak. “Julie,” he began, but she would not have it.
“Oh, Tim—honey! Don’t!” she begged; and with a little sob she buried her face against his breast. He stooped and kissed her then, and said no more.
XVII
As the days drifted by, it seemed indeed as though Julie’s passion of loving service had worked a miracle in old Miss Fogg—that broken vessel which life had cast upon the midden of the world. Her canary bird, restored to life, sang in the window. The geranium was dead; but Julie bought another, so the effect of the room was gay, with white curtains blowing in the wind, the bird’s song, and the flower in the sunshine.