But nothing was necessary. Phil Abingdon
came forward quite naturally--and quite naturally Paul Harley
discovered her little gloved hand to lie clasped between both his
own. It was more like a reunion than a first meeting and was so
laden with perfect understanding that, even yet, speech seemed
scarcely worth while.
Thinking over that moment, in later days, Paul Harley remembered
that he had been prompted by some small inner voice to say: "So
you have come back?" It was recognition. Of the hundreds of men
and women who came into his life for a while, and ere long went
out of it again, he knew, by virtue of that sixth sense of his,
that Phil Abingdon had come to stay--whether for joy or sorrow he
could not divine.
It was really quite brief--that interval of silence--although
perhaps long enough to bridge the ages.
"How brave of you, Miss Abingdon!" said Harley. "How wonderfully
brave of you!"
"She's an Abingdon," came the deep tones of Doctor McMurdoch.
"She arrived only two hours ago and here she is."
"There can be no rest for me, Doctor," said the girl, and strove
valiantly to control her voice, "until this dreadful doubt is
removed. Mr. Harley"--she turned to him appealingly--"please
don't study my feelings in the least; I can bear anything--now;
just tell me what happened. Oh! I had to come. I felt that I had
to come."
As Paul Harley placed an armchair for his visitor, his glance met
that of Doctor McMurdoch, and in the gloomy eyes he read
admiration of this girl who could thus conquer the inherent
weakness of her sex and at such an hour and after a dreadful
ordeal set her hand to the task which fate had laid upon her.
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