She came straight to
him and put both hands in his, saying in her friendly, low voice: "Mr.
Kendrick, I'm sorry--sorry!"
He looked long and hungrily into her face, holding her hands with such a
fierce grasp that he hurt her cruelly, though she made no sign. He did
not even thank her--only held her until every detail of her face had
been studied. She let him do it, and only dropped her eyes and stood
colouring warmly under the inquisition. It was as if she understood that
the sight of her was a moment's sedative for an aching heart, and she
must yield it or be more unkind than it was in the heart of woman to be.
When he released her it was with a sigh that came up from the depths,
and as she left him he stood and watched her until she was out of sight.
* * * * *
When Matthew Kendrick opened his eyes at ten o'clock on the morning
after his fall the first thing they rested upon was the face he loved
best in the world. It came instantly nearer, the eyes meeting his
imploringly, as if begging him to speak. So with some little effort he
did speak. "Well, Dick," he said slowly, "I'm glad you came, boy.
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