"I must make my way to Springfield to-morrow. My work is there,--my new
work, Palmer."
Palmer looked troubled.
"I wish you had not taken it up. This war may be needed to conquer a way
for the day of peace and good-will among men; but you, who profess to be
a seer and actor in that day, have only one work: to make it real to us
now on earth, as your Master did, in the old time."
Gaunt did not speak,--fumbled among the chips at the fire. He raised
himself at last.
"I'm trying to do what's right," he said, in a subdued voice. "I haven't
had a pleasant life,--but it will come right at last, maybe."
"It will come right, David!" said the girl.
His face lighted: her cheery voice sounded like a welcome ringing
through his future years. It was a good omen, coming from her whom he
had wronged.
"Are you going now, Gaunt?" asked Palmer, seeing him button his thin
coat. "Take my blanket,--nay, you shall. As soon as I am strong enough,
I'll find you at Springfield."
He wished he could hearten the poor unnerved soul, somehow.
Gaunt stopped outside, looking at them,--some uncertain thought coming
and going in his face.
"I'll speak it out, whatever you may think. Dode, I've done you a
deadly hurt. Don't ask me what it is,--God knows. I'd like, before I go,
to show you I love you in a pure, honorable way, you and your
husband"----
The words choked in his throat; he stopped abruptly.
Pages:
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106