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Updated: May 24, 2025
The Harvester dropped the pencil, and palm downward laid his hands on the table, his promise strong in his heart. The Girl slid a shaking palm under his chin, leaned his head against her breast, and dropped a sweet, tear-wet face on his. With all the strength of her frail arms she gripped him a second, and then gave the kiss, into which she tried to put all she could find no words to express.
Near her stood a lean, stoop-shouldered man whose long hair was perfectly white. His gaunt face was bare of beard. It had strange, sloping, sad lines. And he was staring with mild, surprised eyes. The moment held Shefford mute till sight of Fay Larkin's tear-wet face broke the spell. He leaped forward and his strong hands reached for the woman and the man. "Jane Withersteen!... Lassiter!
I knew nothing. Now, it's all over. I'm afraid of all the world!" "Not all, cherie," breathed Mademoiselle. She sat upright against her pillows. The mirror on a dressing table reflected her image her blooming tear-wet youth, framed in the wonderful hair falling a shadow about her. She stared at the reflection hard and questioningly.
'Margaret, dear! said he, drawing her closer, 'think of the early martyrs; think of the thousands who have suffered. 'But, father, said she, suddenly lifting up her flushed, tear-wet face, 'the early martyrs suffered for the truth, while you oh! dear, dear papa!
One stuff, one substance, throughout the universe; and this poor old, tear-wet earth of ours is a planet shining in the heavens as much as any of them, of the same glorious material of which they are made. Then, again, we have discovered the unity of life.
For a few minutes the silence in the little room was broken only by poor Deborah's sobs, and by Denny's voice, as he tried to comfort his mother. Suddenly the nurse sprang to her feet. "There is some one," she cried. "I knew there must be, of course. Why didn't we think of him before?" Deborah raised her head, a look of doubtful hope on her tear-wet face. "Mr. Matthews," explained the young woman.
Inexpressibly moved by this, I hastened forward impulsively and, opening this door, stepped into the room beyond. She was crouching at the table, a slender, desolate figure, her face hidden in her arms, but hearing my footstep, she lifted her head with a weary gesture and, looking into the beauty of this pale, tear-wet face, I read there a hopeless terror that went far beyond fear.
When we were ambling side by side, separated from the rest of the party by a gleaming cloud of copper dust, a few long-haired, brown sheep, some blue-eyed water buffalo, and a plague of little birds, Enid turned upon me a pair of tear-wet eyes. "Why, Miss Biddell, what is the matter or is it a cold in your head?" I asked anxiously. "It's not a cold in my head," she confessed.
A long, slim figure, white-robed and in all the abandon of girlish grief, was lying, face downward, on the bed. Tangled masses of hair concealed much of the neck and shoulders, but, bending over, Miss Wren could partially see the flushed and tear-wet cheek pillowed on one slender white arm.
But she shook her head: she had business to transact on her knees that night business with the Mother of God that would take all night long and many, many other sleepless nights; and many candles. She put her left arm around Smith’s neck and hid her tear-wet face on his shoulder.
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