"At last there is a sign. I have a little more hope now!"
She told him of the first faint indications of life in the still limbs of the child.
"It will be months before we can tell really. But tonight I have strong hope!"
"What we need most in life is hope," he mused. "It keeps the thing going."
"As long as a man can work, he has hope," she replied stoutly.
"I suppose so,—at least he must think so."
Margaret knew that the work the engineer was engaged on was nearly finished. It might last at the most another six weeks, and he did not know where he should go then; but it was altogether unlikely that the fall would find him at Dudley Farms.
"I was in the city to-day," he said after a time, "and in the company's office I ran across my old chief. He's going to Panama in the fall."…
Margaret waited with strange expectancy for what Falkner might say next. She rarely asked questions, sought directly to know. She had the power of patience, and an unconscious belief that life shaped itself largely without the help of speech. Here and there in the drama of events the spoken word might be called for—but rarely.
"They have interesting problems down there," Falkner continued; "it is really big work, you know. A man might do something worth while. But it is a hole!"