His own arms tightened. He heard
McDowell's voice--a distant and non-essential voice it seemed to him
now--saying that he would leave them alone and that he would see them
again tomorrow. He heard the door open and close. McDowell was gone.
And the soft little arms were still tight about his neck. The sweet
crush of hair smothered his face, and on his breast she was crying now
like a baby. He held her closer. A wild exultation seized upon him, and
every fiber in his body responded to its thrill, as tautly-stretched
wires respond to an electrical storm. It passed swiftly, burning itself
out, and his heart was left dead. He heard a sound made by Wallie out
in the kitchen. He saw the walls of the room again, the chair in which
McDowell had sat, the blazing fire. His arms relaxed. The girl raised
her head and put her two hands to his face, looking at him with eyes
which Keith no longer failed to recognize. They were the eyes that had
looked at him out of the faded picture in Conniston's watch.
"Kiss me, Derry!"
It was impossible not to obey. Her lips clung to him. There was love,
adoration, in their caress.
And then she was crying again, with her arms around him tight and her
face hidden against him, and he picked her up as he would have lifted a
child, and carried her to the big chair in front of the fire.
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