He repeated it in its entirety. At the end, however, his voice broke.
“O Lord, in thee have I trusted—I doubted Him, Lucy,” he said.
Dick, waiting at the foot of the stairs, heard that triumphant paean of thanksgiving and praise and closed his eyes.
It was a few minutes later that Lucy came down the stairs again.
“You heard him?” she asked. “Oh, Dick, he had frightened me. It was more than a question of himself and you. He was making it one of himself and God.”
She let him go up alone and waited below, straining her ears, but she heard nothing beyond David's first hoarse cry, and after a little she went into her sitting-room and shut the door.
Whatever lay underneath, there was no surface drama in the meeting. The determination to ignore any tragedy in the situation was strong in them both, and if David's eyes were blurred and his hands trembling, if Dick's first words were rather choked, they hid their emotion carefully.
“Well, here I am, like a bad penny!” said Dick huskily from the doorway.
“And a long time you've been about it,” grumbled David. “You young rascal!”
He held out his hand, and Dick crushed it between both of his. He was startled at the change in David. For a moment he could only stand there, holding his hand, and trying to keep his apprehension out of his face.