“It would indeed, uncle,” replied Duane, and the old, haunting, somber mood returned.
But Duane was not often at the mercy of childish old hero-worshiping Uncle Jim. Miss Longstreth was the only person who seemed to divine Duane's gloomy mood, and when she was with him she warded off all suggestion.
One afternoon, while she was there at the west window, a message came for him. They read it together.
You have saved the ranger service to the Lone Star State
MACNELLEY.
Ray knelt beside him at the window, and he believed she meant to speak then of the thing they had shunned. Her face was still white, but sweeter now, warm with rich life beneath the marble; and her dark eyes were still intent, still haunted by shadows, but no longer tragic.
“I'm glad for MacNelly's sake as well as the state's,” said Duane.
She made no reply to that and seemed to be thinking deeply. Duane shrank a little.
“The pain—Is it any worse to-day?” she asked, instantly.
“No; it's the same. It will always be the same. I'm full of lead, you know. But I don't mind a little pain.”