“I won’t be, Daddy dear—I promise,” Norah said.
She made a brave effort to keep his mind at ease as the days went on; riding and walking with him, forcing herself to sing as she went about the house—she had her reward in the look in the silent man’s eyes when he first heard a song on her lips—and entering with a good imitation of her old energy into the plans for the next year on the farm. But it was all imitation, and in his heart David Linton knew it. The old Norah was gone. He could only pity her with all his big heart, and help her in her struggle—knowing well that it was for his sake. In his mind he began to plan their return to Australia, in the hope that Billabong would prove a tonic to her tired mind and body. And yet—how could they face Billabong, without Jim?
He came out on the terrace one evening with a letter in his hand.
“Norah,” he said. “I’ve good news for you—Wally is coming home.”
“Is he, Dad? On leave?”
“Well—he has been wounded, but not seriously. They have been nursing him in a hospital at Boulogne and he writes that he is better, but he is to have a fortnight’s leave.”
“It will be lovely to have him,” Norah said. “May I see the letter, Dad?”
“Of course.” He gave it to her. “Poor old Wally! We must give him a good time, Norah.”
“It’s a pity Harry’s leave didn’t happen at the same time,” said Norah. “However, Phil will be a mate for him; they like each other awfully.”
“Yes,” agreed her father. “Still, I don’t think Wally wants any other mate when you are about.”