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his eyes up towards his father's face and kept them there, as though he wished never to lose sight of him again.
"You—and me, Buckskin—and old Jock—the three of us, eh?" murmured Derek. "And a night as black as pitch. I wish them luck, that pair. Curse him for a whining scoundrel. . . . And the girl, to go off and leave you like this, and me." He caught himself up, for an ache like a gripping hand caught him by the throat and his nose stung. Good God! he wasn't going to cry. Well—it would make a man cry to see a baby left like this.
He put his lips against the fair downy head and kept them there.
