Before departing, the latter called upon Lizzī and, in the presence of her family, feelingly expressed his gratitude for the heroic rescue of his unworthy life. He depreciated himself modestly, and the McAnays thought him very unassuming. Lizzī put up her hand in glad protest as she heard his graceful sentences, conveying to her a deeper meaning than thankfulness.
"When I come back," was their promise, "then," they said to her, "I shall acknowledge you as my wife, Lizzī."
The Colonel was expeditious, and soon returned with a large stock of goods, some of which were stored in the warehouse at the station; the balance was placed upon the shelves of the temporary building that had been erected in his absence. For a few days Gill was very busy, and his visits to Lizzī were only short calls.
One evening he came early, evidently with the intention of making a visit. Soon he and Lizzī were left alone together.
"I have had a letter from mother, Lizzī," Gill said eagerly, but his tone was not loud. "Such a letter about you and the fire, and I am sure all I have to do is to go and see her, and she will be only too glad to receive you as her daughter."
Lizzī stood still. Her heart beat so hard she thought it would burst, and the color deepened on her cheek. She had few tricks. Her honest nature expressed itself simply. She was glad, and her face and posture were the manifestations of her joy. She was one of the few persons with whom words at times have too deep meaning to be uttered, and whose actions are the sole exponents of their feeling.
Gill said quietly:
"Sit down, dear, and I will read you the letter."
But she could not do so without giving vent to her feelings, which she did in the very undramatic act of poking the fire. She did it vigorously, and the click of the metal stove doors as she closed them was a "There now" to her mood. Then she sat down ready to listen. He began at once.
"'My dear son, doubly precious to me because of your nearness to a horrible death, give my love to the brave girl who saved you to me. Some day she may know from the anguish of her own heart over a child's peril how much I mean when I say I am grateful to her. Words cannot be stronger than that. If she is ever a mother, she will learn that it is the parent's love alone that endures in all its sensitiveness.