And with that Hughie was content.
“Now let us sing one more hymn,” said his mother. “It's my choice.” And she chose one of the new hymns which they had just learned in the singing school, and of which Hughie was very fond, the children's hymn, “Come to the Saviour.” While they were singing they heard Mr. Murray drive into the yard.
“There's papa,” said Mrs. Murray. “He will be tired and hungry,” and she hurried out to meet her husband, followed by Harry and Hughie, leaving Ranald and Maimie in the room together. Ranald had never been alone with her before, nor indeed had he ever spent five minutes of his life alone with any girl before now. But he did not feel awkward or shy; he was thinking now, as he had been thinking now and then through the whole evening, of only one thing, that Maimie was going away. That would make a great difference to him, so great that he was conscious of a heart-sinking at the mere thought of it. During the last weeks, his life had come to move about a center, and that center was Maimie; and now that she was going away, there would be nothing left. Nothing, that is, that really mattered. But the question he was revolving in his mind was, would she forget all about him. He knew he would never forget her, that was, of course, impossible, for so many things would remind him of her. He would never see the moonlight falling through the trees as it fell that night of the sugaring-off, without thinking of her. He would never see the shadows in the evening, or hear the wind in the leaves, without thinking of her. The church and the minister's pew, the manse and all belonging to it would remind him of Maimie. He would recall how she looked at different times and places, the turn of her head, the way her hair fell on her neck, her laugh, the little toss of her chin, and the curve in her lips. He would remember everything about her. Would she remember him, or would she forget him? That was the question burning in his heart; and that question he must have settled, and this was the time.
But though these thoughts and emotions were rushing through his brain and blood, he felt strangely quiet and self-controlled as he walked over to her where she stood beside the piano, and looking into her eyes with an intensity of gaze she could not meet, said, in a low, quick voice: “You are going away?”
“Yes,” she replied, so startled that the easy smile with which she had greeted him faded out of her face. “In two weeks I shall be gone.”
“Gone!” echoed Ranald. “Yes, you will be gone. Will you forget me?” His tone was almost stern.
“Why, no,” she said, in a surprised voice. “Of course not. Did not you save my life? You will be far more likely to forget me.”
“No,” he said, simply, as if that possibility need not be considered. “I will never forget you. I will always be thinking of you. Will you think of me?” he persisted.
“Why, certainly. Wouldn't I be a very ungrateful girl if I did not?”
“Ungrateful!” exclaimed Ranald, impatiently. “What I did was nothing. Forget that. Do you not understand me? I will be thinking of you every day, in the morning and at night, and I never thought of any one else before for a day. Will you be thinking of me?”