Leslie went home in disturbance and pain. She, too, placed a light in her window; she, too, left her infant untended, and strained her eyes to pierce the storm. Hector Garret must have descried her figure as he approached the house, for he came straight to her room, and stood a moment with his dripping clothes and a glow on his face.
"Don't go, Leslie; I'll be back presently."
She put a restraint upon herself, and became busied with the refreshments laid out for him. He came in immediately, and advanced towards her with the same eager phrase, "Don't go, Leslie," and he grasped her gown lightly. She sat down while he ate and drank.
"I'll have a cup of tea, Leslie; pour me out my tea as you used to do." She had always poured out tea for him, but not always with him close by, and his detaining hand upon her dress.
"This is like old times. They were very foolish—those old times, but they have their sweetness to look back upon them."
She interrupted him—"They are all safe, are they not?"
"Every man of them, thank God."
He was spent with his exertions; he was fevered and incoherent; she let him speak on, detailing the minutest particulars. She even said with animation, and the tears in her eyes—
"Their protector and deliverer! God will bless you for this, Hector Garret."
He bent his head, but he held out his arms: "Will you bless me, Leslie?"