I was awakened at dawn. ’Twas by a gentle touch of the doctor’s hand. “Is it you, zur?” I asked, starting from sad dreams.
“Hush!” he whispered. “’Tis I, Davy.”
I listened to the roar of the gale—my sleepy senses immediately aroused by the noise of wind and sleet. The gathered rage was loosed, at last.
“’Tis a bitter night,” I said.
“The day is breaking.”
He sat down beside me, gravely silent; and he put his arm around me.
“You isn’t goin’?” I pleaded.
“Yes.”
I had grown to know his duty. ’Twas all plain to me. I would not have held him from it, lest I come to love him less.
“Ay,” I moaned, gripping his hand, “you’re goin’!”