“Oh—I can’t—I can’t——” she breathed. “You’re the stronger—and I—I—want you to be!”
With one quick stride he reached her. “Of course you do,” he said, his voice exultant in its joy.
Behind them brown Betty watched with dumb eyes, wondering, perhaps, how so stormy a scene could be succeeded by such motionless calm. As for her, this new, strange way of standing, always standing, too full of pain to sleep, was a thing to be endured as best she might.
R. H.—A PORTRAIT
Not credulous, yet active in belief
That good is better than the worst is bad;
A generous courage mirrored in the glad
Challenging eyes, that gentle oft with grief
For honest woe—while lurking like a thief,