Part 35 (1/2)

After that first terrible evening, during which no one had looked upon their agony, David Linton and his child took up their life again and tried to splice the broken ends as best they might. Their guests, who came down to breakfast nervously, preparing to go away at once, found them in the dining-room, haggard and worn, but pleasantly courteous; they talked of the morning's news, of the frost that seemed commencing, of the bulbs that were sending delicate spear-heads up through the gra.s.s or the bare flower-beds. There were arrangements for the day to be made for those who cared to ride or drive: the trains to be planned for a gunner subaltern whose leave was expiring next day. Everything was quite as usual, outwardly.

”Pretty ghastly meal, what?” remarked the young gunner to a chum, as they went out on the terrace. ”Rather like dancing at a funeral.”

Philip Hardress came into the morning-room, where Mr. Linton and Norah were talking.

”I don't need to tell you how horribly sorry I am,” he faltered.

”No--thanks, Phil.”

”You--you haven't any details?”

”No.”

”Wally will write as soon as he can,” Norah added.

”Yes, of course. The others want me to say, sir, of course they will go away. They all understand. I can go too, just to the hotel. I can supervise Hawkins from there.”

”I hope none of you will think of doing any such thing,” David Linton said. ”Our work here is just the same. Jim would never have wished us not to carry on.”

”But----” Hardress began.

”There isn't any 'but.' Norah and I are not going to sit mourning, with our hands in front of us. We mean to work a bit harder, that's all. You see”--the ghost of a smile flickered across the face that had aged ten years in a night--”more than ever now, whatever we do for a soldier is done for Jim.”

Hardress made a curious little gesture of protest.

”And I'm left--half of me!”

”You have got to help us, Phil,” Norah said. ”We need you badly.”

”I can't do much,” he said. ”But as long as you want me, I'm here.

Then I'm to tell the others, sir----”

”Tell them we hope they will help us to carry on as usual,” said David Linton. ”I'll come across with you presently, Phil, to look at the new cultivator: I hear it arrived last night.”

He looked at Norah as the door closed.

”You're sure it isn't too much for you, my girl? I will send them away if you would rather we were by ourselves for a while.”

”I promised Jim that whatever happened we'd keep smiling,” Norah said.

”He wouldn't want us to make a fuss. Jim always did so hate fusses, didn't he, Dad?”

She was quite calm. Even when Mrs. Hunt came hurrying over, and put her kind arms about her, Norah had no tears.

”I suppose we haven't realized it,” she said. ”Perhaps we're trying not to. I don't want to think of Jim as dead--he was so splendidly alive, ever since he was a tiny chap.”

”Try to think of him as near you,” Mrs. Hunt whispered.