She fell on her knees; and on her arms and on his
lap she buried then her face.
He suddenly stooped to her, and caught his arms about
her, and raised her to him, and pressed his face to
hers, and held her there; and his cry was as once
before, passionately holding her, his cry had been;
then from his heart to her heart, now from the abysses
of his soul to her soul’s depths, “Rosalie!
Rosalie!”
There was to have been some more of it; but there,
they’re in each other’s arms, and one
has suffered so with them one cannot any more go on.
One’s suffered so! One has looked backward
with her. The heart must break but for a forward
glimpse:—
They’re all right now. Huggo’s in
Canada. He writes every week. They’re
all right now. That other Rosalie that they brought
in is looking after them. She’s looking
after them, that elf, that sprite, that tricksy scrap,
that sunshine thing. She calls Harry father and
Rosalie she calls mother. She has all her meals
with them. There’s no nurse. It’s
breakfast she loves best. She’s on the itch
all breakfast. When breakfast’s done she’s
off her chair and hopping. She trumpets in her
tiny voice, “Lessons! Lessons!” She
trumpets in her tiny voice, “Lessons, lessons!
On mother’s knee! On mother’s knee!”
