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Updated: May 24, 2025
You are not in a good humor to-night, something has rasped you again; and as for me, I am about as miserable, my dear, as it is possible for a man with a few thousand a year to be." She tried to answer him steadily, and, finding she could not, rushed into novel subterfuge. Subterfuge was a novelty to Mollie. "Yes," she said, lifting the most beauteous of tear-wet eyes to his quite eagerly.
You're so gay when you're not crying. I don't think any man could prevent himself from wanting you." And then desperately, in a last effort, "You're most tremendously charming." Her face never stirred from the cushions, but he was aware that surreptitiously his borrowed handkerchief was being employed industriously. He had just time to compose his features before a tear-wet eye blinked up at him.
Minty, with ready tact, dragged Little Sis from under the table, and driving the rest of the flock before her, fled the room and shut the door behind her. On the dark porch she ran plump upon Jack Carter. "Why, Jack!" she cried, with her tear-wet face tucked before she knew it against his breast, "what are you doing here?" "Oh, just hanging around," grinned Mr. Carter.
He almost filled it, and his eyes grew troubled as he noted the thin, white, tear-wet face. "Shall I close the door?" he asked. "No. Please do not. I like to think that all the others, down the corridor, and I are together listening, growing better!" "Oh! I see." Cameron tossed aside his coat and sat down.
She held her round softly-tinted face, with the mouse-coloured ringlets falling away from it, up to his in the railway station as he prepared to climb to his place in the pumpkin-shaped compartment. He ensured a tear-wet pillow for her that night by merely shaking her hand at the full length of a rigid arm.
"Don't do that!" he pleaded. "All that's gone, all that I've missed, is not worth a single tear. You must not make my troubles your own, for at the worst there's not enough for two." She reached out her tear-wet hand and clung to his, wordless for a little while. As it lay softly within his palm he stroked it soothingly and folded it between his hands as if to yield it freedom nevermore.
With the letters pressed close against my tear-wet cheeks I sat for a long time, busy with memories of my mother and debating whether or not I had the right to open the letter. I certainly was not in desperate straits, and I could not conscientiously say that I no longer harbored any resentment toward^the father of whom I had no recollection.
The memory of it stung him like a lash, and, completely overwhelmed with shame, he hid his face in his hands. Suddenly, a pair of soft arms stole around his neck, a childish, tear-wet cheek was pressed close to his, and a sweet voice whispered, tenderly: "Dear, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry I can't live another minute unless you tell me you forgive me!"
She stole to him and flung her arms about his neck, and with a cry he seized her and held her against him for I know not how long. Had it been possible to have held her there always, he would never have let her go. At last he looked down into her tear-wet face, into her eyes that were shining with tears. "D-done wrong, Cynthy."
And in the end, the end coming swiftly now, it was well. With David Drennen and Ygerne and Max close about him, his last sensation the touch of their hands, his last sight the sight of their tear-wet faces, knowing that when he was gone there would be one to comfort his son, he died. It was dawn.
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