Twining’s letter came to her at Endells six weeks after his cabled message. He was scarcely more hopeful than the newspapers. And a little after this the newspapers themselves ceased to speak of Dyke. There was no more to be said.
Plainly old Mr. Dyke’s bodily strength was ebbing fast. That seat on the cliff saw them no more. It was as much as he could do to walk to church, with the aid of Emmie’s arm. In church he sat while others stood or kneeled; and always when the time came for the curate to read the prayer of promise that when two or three are gathered together in God’s name their requests will be granted, Emmie saw his hands, and then his whole body, begin to tremble. He used to close his eyes, and Emmie, looking down at him, saw the deep lines on his shrunken cheeks, his veined eyelids, and his bloodless lips, all in a sort of fluttering movement that was produced by the rapidity of his breathing.
In the mild spring weather they drove in a little old-fashioned phaeton with a staid old pony—Emmie driving and the old man at her side—through the deep-sunk lanes, never on the high road, along the sheltered valleys and sometimes high enough on the hillside to find a point where, stopping for a few minutes to rest the pony, they could look through the bars of a field gate across sloping grass land to the wide calm sea. He loved these outings in the pony carriage, and they did him good. They talked all the while of Anthony; he as a rule telling her of incidents connected with his son’s youth or early manhood, and she generally speaking of things that were to be done in the future. They comforted each other as best they could.
“As soon as he comes home, Mr. Dyke, he must help you to make the tenants do their duty in repairing these banks. They really are neglecting them.”
“Yes, I’ll get him to help me about that—and other matters. I am afraid I have been negligent myself this last year. But if Tony will settle down here, and—”
“Oh, he promised. He’ll keep his promise. He promised us both that he would never go away again.”
For although they did not attempt to conceal the torture of anxiety that both were suffering, neither had ever admitted even a transient fear that their belief in his return might not be justified. Nothing should shake her own faith, and she thought that the old man’s faith was as firm. But then, during one of these drives, he unconsciously allowed her to divine that it was not so.
They had been almost laughing as they spoke of the remarkable fact that Mr. Sturgess, the doctor, had added a really new anecdote to his repertory.
“It would have amused Tony to know that,” said Mr. Dyke.