Toward the end of November the Clarkes took their departure; father,
mother, and son, two servants, and the despised, but efficient Miss
Hanna. Nance went down to see them off, hovering over the unsuspecting
Mac with feelings of mingled relief and contrition.
"I wish you'd let me tell him," she implored Mrs. Clarke. "He's bound to
know soon. Why not get it over with now?"
Mrs. Clarke was in instant panic.
"Not a word, I implore you! We will break the news to him when he is
better. Be good to him now, let him go away happy. Please, dear, for my
sake!" With the strength of the weak, she carried her point.
For the quarter of an hour before the train started, Nance resolutely
kept the situation in hand, not giving Mac a chance to speak to her
alone, and keeping up a running fire of nonsense that provoked even Mr.
Clarke to laughter. When the "All Aboard!" sounded from without, there
was scant time for good-bys. She hurried out, and when on the platform,
turned eagerly to scan the windows above her. A gust of smoke swept
between her and the slow-moving train; then as it cleared she caught her
last glimpse of a gay irresponsible face propped about with pillows and a
thin hand that threw her kisses as far as she could see.
It was with a curious feeling of elation mingled with depression, that
she tramped back to the hospital through the gloom of that November day.
Until a month ago she had scarcely had a thought beyond Mac and the
progress of his case; even now she missed his constant demands upon her,
and her heart ached for the disappointment that awaited him.
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