He had no words for that, only little caressing touches of her arm, her
hand. Perhaps, without knowing it, he was formulating a sort of prayer
that, since there must be troubles, she would, always come to him and he
would always be able to help her.
And Sidney, too, fell silent. She was recalling the day she became engaged
to Max, and the lost feeling she had had. She did not feel the same at all
now. She felt as if she had been wandering, and had come home to the arms
that were about her. She would be married, and take the risk that all women
took, with her eyes open. She would go through the valley of the shadow,
as other women did; but K. would be with her. Nothing else mattered.
Looking into his steady eyes, she knew that she was safe. She would never
wither for him.
Where before she had felt the clutch of inexorable destiny, the woman's
fate, now she felt only his arms about her, her cheek on his shabby coat.
"I shall love you all my life," she said shakily.
His arms tightened about her.
The little house was dark when they got back to it. The Street, which had
heard that Mr. Le Moyne approved of night air, was raising its windows for
the night and pinning cheesecloth bags over its curtains to keep them
clean.
In the second-story front room at Mrs. McKee's, the barytone slept heavily,
and made divers unvocal sounds. He was hardening his throat, and so slept
with a wet towel about it.
Down on the doorstep, Mrs. McKee and Mr. Wagner sat and made love with the
aid of a lighted match and the pencil-pad.
The car drew up at the little house, and Sidney got out. Then it drove
away, for K. must take it to the garage and walk back.
Sidney sat on the doorstep and waited. How lovely it all was! How
beautiful life was! If one did one's best by life, it did its best too.
How steady K.'s eyes were! She saw the flicker of the match across the
street, and knew what it meant. Once she would have thought that that was
funny; now it seemed very touching to her.
Katie had heard the car, and now she came heavily along the hall. "A woman
left this for Mr. K.," she said. "If you think it's a begging letter,
you'd better keep it until he's bought his new suit to-morrow. Almost any
moment he's likely to bust out."
But it was not a begging letter. K. read it in the hall, with Sidney's
shining eyes on him. It began abruptly:-"I'm going to Africa with one of my cousins. She is a medical missionary.
Perhaps I can work things out there. It is a bad station on the West
Coast. I am not going because I feel any call to the work, but because I
do not know what else to do.