And then she said cheerfully, "I can never thank you all enough. Oh,
my poor darling!"
As she spoke, she took her husband's grey head in her hands and kissed
it.
"Lay your poor head here and rest it. All will yet be well, dear! God
will protect us if He so will it in His good intent." The poor fellow
groaned. There was no place for words in his sublime misery.
We had a sort of perfunctory supper together, and I think it cheered
us all up somewhat. It was, perhaps, the mere animal heat of food to
hungry people, for none of us had eaten anything since breakfast, or
the sense of companionship may have helped us, but anyhow we were all
less miserable, and saw the morrow as not altogether without hope.
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