“You will be in Paris, will you not?” said the woman, in an ecstasy of pleasure, “and you will come to see us in our own shop, will you not? Ah! we should be so greatly honored, sir, if you would visit us; if you would come to the home you have given us. You have helped us so greatly, sir,” she said; “and may Heaven bless you!”
She caught up his gloved hand as it rested on the door and kissed it until he snatched it away in great embarrassment and flushing like a girl. Her husband drew her toward him, and the young bride sat at his side with her face close to his and wept tears of pleasure and of excitement.
“Ah, look, sir!” said the young man, joyfully; “look how happy you have made us. You have made us happy for the rest of our lives.”
The train moved out with a quick, heavy rush, and the car-wheels took up the young stranger's last words and seemed to say, “You have made us happy—made us happy for the rest of our lives.”
It had all come about so rapidly that the Plunger had had no time to consider or to weigh his motives, and all that seemed real to him now, as he stood alone on the platform of the dark, deserted station, were the words of the man echoing and re-echoing like the refrain of the song. And then there came to him suddenly, and with all the force of a gambler's superstition, the thought that the words were the same as those which his father had used in his letter, “you can make us happy for the rest of our lives.”
“Ah,” he said, with a quick gasp of doubt, “if I could! If I made those poor fools happy, mayn't I live to be something to him, and to her? O God!” he cried, but so gently that one at his elbow could not have heard him, “if I could, if I could!”
He tossed up his hands, and drew them down again and clenched them in front of him, and raised his tired, hot eyes to the calm purple sky with its millions of moving stars. “Help me!” he whispered fiercely, “help me.” And as he lowered his head the queer numb feeling seemed to go, and a calm came over his nerves and left him in peace. He did not know what it might be, nor did he dare to question the change which had come to him, but turned and slowly mounted the hill, with the awe and fear still upon him of one who had passed beyond himself for one brief moment into another world. When he reached his room he found his servant bending with an anxious face over a letter which he tore up guiltily as his master entered. “You were writing to my father,” said Cecil, gently, “were you not? Well, you need not finish your letter; we are going home.
“I am going away from this place, Walters,” he said as he pulled off his coat and threw himself heavily on the bed. “I will take the first train that leaves here, and I will sleep a little while you put up my things. The first train, you understand—within an hour, if it leaves that soon.” His head sank back on the pillows heavily, as though he had come in from a long, weary walk, and his eyes closed and his arms fell easily at his side. The servant stood frightened and yet happy, with the tears running down his cheeks, for he loved his master dearly.
“We are going home, Walters,” the Plunger whispered drowsily. “We are going home; home to England and Harringford and the governor—and we are going to be happy for all the rest of our lives.” He paused a moment, and Walters bent forward over the bed and held his breath to listen.
“For he came to me,” murmured the boy, as though he was speaking in his sleep, “when I was yet a great way off—while I was yet a great way off, and ran to meet me—”