Part 13 (2/2)

”I have been thanked--suitably.... I will say adieu, sir.”

”Would you--would you so far favour me as to make known to me your name?” I said, stammering a little.

”Lois is my name,” she said indifferently.

”No more than that?”

”No more than that.”

How it was now going with me I did not clearly understand, but it appeared to be my instinct not to let her slip away into the world without something more friendly said--some truer grat.i.tude expressed--some warmth.

”Lois,” I said very gravely, ”what we Americans give to our country demands no ign.o.ble reward. Therefore, I offer none of any sort. Yet, because you have been a good comrade to me--and because now we are about to go our different ways into the world before us--I ask of you two things. May I do so?”

After a moment, looking away from me across the meadow:

”Ask,” she said.

”Then the first is--will you take my hand in adieu--and let us part as good soldiers part?”

Still gazing absently across the meadow, she extended her hand. I retained it for a moment, then released it. Her arm fell inert by her side, but mine tingled to the shoulder.

”And one more thing,” I said, while this strange and curious reluctance to let her go was now steadily invading me.

”Yes?”

”Will you wear a comrade's token--in memory of an hour or two with him?”

”What!”

She spoke with a quick intake of breath and her grey eyes were on me now, piercing me to the roots of speech and motive.

I wore a heavy ring beaten out of gold; Guy Johnson gave it. This I took from my trembling finger, scarce knowing why I was doing it at all, and stooping and lifting her little, wind-roughened hand, put it on the first finger I encountered--blindly, now, and clumsily past all belief, my hand was shaking so absurdly.

If my face were now as red as it was hot, hers, on the contrary, had become very strange and still and white. For a moment I seemed to read distrust, scorn, even hatred, in her level stare, and something of fear, too, in every quickening breath that moved the scarlet mantle on her breast. Then, in a flash, she had turned her back on me and was standing there in the grey dawn, with both hands over her face, straight and still as a young pine. But my ring was s.h.i.+ning on her finger.

Emotion of a nature to which I was an utter stranger was meddling with my breath and pulses, now checking, now speeding both so that I stood with mind disconcerted in a silly sort of daze.

At length I gathered sufficient composure to step to her side again.

”Once more, little comrade, good-bye,” I said. ”This ends it all.”

Again she turned her shoulder to me, but I heard her low reply:

”Good-bye--Mr. Loskiel.”

And so it ended.

A moment later I found myself walking aimlessly across the gra.s.s in no particular direction. Three times I turned in my tracks to watch her.

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