“I have waited to see you so long,” she said, “and now you are going away again.”
“Don't speak like that, Kate,” said Ranald, “don't say those things. I want to tell you how you have helped me these three lonely years, but I can't, and you will never know, and now I am going back. I hardly dared to see you, but I wish you everything that is good. I haven't seen Harry either, but you will wish him joy for me. He is a very lucky fellow.”
By this time Ranald had regained control of himself, and was speaking in a tone of frank and brotherly affection. Kate looked at him with a slightly puzzled air.
“I've seen Maimie,” Ranald went on, “and she told me all about it, and I am—yes, I am very glad.” Still Kate looked a little puzzled, but the minutes were precious, and she had much to say.
“Oh, Ranald!” she cried, “I have so much to say to you. You have become a great man, and you are good. I am so proud when I hear of you,” and lowering her voice almost to a whisper, “I pray for you every day.”
As Ranald stood gazing at the beautiful face, and noticed the quivering lips and the dark eyes shining with tears she was too brave to let fall, he felt that he was fast losing his grip of himself.
“Oh, Kate,” he cried, in a low, tense voice, “I must go. You have been more to me than you will ever know. May you both be happy.”
“Both?” echoed Kate, faintly.
“Yes,” cried Ranald, hurriedly, “Harry will, I'm sure, for if any one can make him happy, you can.”
“I?” catching her breath, and beginning to laugh a little hysterically.