"Yes--thank you a million
times--quite."
"Even if I promise never to make love to you?" he said, his voice
half-quizzical, half-tender.
She put out a trembling hand and laid it on his arm. "Oh,
Scott,--it--isn't that!"
He took the hand and held it. "My dear, don't cry!" he urged gently. "I
knew you wouldn't have me really. I only thought I would just place
myself completely at your disposal in case--some day--you might be
willing to give me the chance to serve you in any capacity whatever.
There! It is over. We are as we were--friends."
He smiled at her with the words, and after a moment stooped and lightly
touched her fingers with his lips.
"Come!" he said gently. "I haven't frightened you anyway. Have I?"
"No," she whispered.
His hand clasped hers for a second or two longer, then quietly let it go.
"Don't be distressed!" he said, "I will never do it again. I am now--and
always--your trusty friend."
And with that he rose in his slow way, paused to light another cigarette,
smiled again upon her, and softly went indoors.
CHAPTER XXVI
THE LAST SUMMONS
There is nought in life more solemn than the waiting hush that falls
before the coming of that great Change which men call Death. And it is to
the watchers rather than to the passing soul itself that the wonder seems
to draw most close. To stand before the veil, to know that very soon it
must be lifted for the loved one to pass beyond, to wait for the glimpse
of that spirit-world from which only the frail wall of mortality divides
even the least spiritual, to watch as it were for the Gate of Death to
open and the great Revelation to flash for one blinding moment upon the
dazzled eyes that may not grasp the meaning of what they see; this is to
stand for a space within the very Sanctuary of God.
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