“Not anywhere!”
He ground it out between his teeth, and she felt his hot breath on her cheek.
“Waldo, you are mad,” she said, drawing herself from him, instinctively.
He loosened his grasp and turned away from her also.
In truth, is it not life’s way? We fight our little battles alone; you yours, I mine. We must not help or find help.
When your life is most real, to me you are mad; when your agony is blackest, I look at you and wonder. Friendship is good, a strong stick; but when the hour comes to lean hard, it gives. In the day of their bitterest need all souls are alone.
Lyndall stood by him in the dark, pityingly, wonderingly. As he walked to the door, she came after him.
“Eat your supper; it will do you good,” she said.
She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder and then ran away.
In the front room the little woolly Kaffer girl was washing Tant Sannie’s feet in a small tub, and Bonaparte, who sat on the wooden sofa, was pulling off his shoes and stockings that his own feet might be washed also. There were three candles burning in the room, and he and Tant Sannie sat close together, with the lean Hottentot not far off; for when ghosts are about much light is needed, there is great strength in numbers. Bonaparte had completely recovered from the effects of his fright in the afternoon, and the numerous doses of brandy that it had been necessary to administer to him to effect his restoration had put him into a singularly pleasant and amiable mood.