He flung down his coat, gathered her into his arms, held her close a second.
"It's quarter past five," David's gruff voice called from the front door.
Nathan very tenderly unclasped Rebecca's hands, pushed her away from him, whispered "Good-by, good-by," picked up his coat, ran down the stairs. Reba saw the door close behind him, heard it slam. He was gone. Gone!
The parlor! One more glimpse of him still was possible from the parlor. Down the stairs she sped, across the hall. Helping hands pulled open the heavy sliding-doors for her. She ran to the window, pushed back the laces.
There he was! Seated in the car beside her father going down the hill. And he was waving—just on the chance she might be watching. The very last bit Rebecca saw of Nathan as he sank out of sight over the hill was his steadily waving arm.
"Come, Reba," Aunt Augusta said to her a half-hour later, when she found her there in the parlor, still staring out of the window. "You mustn't stay in here alone."
"No, I suppose not," she replied dully.
Augusta Morgan put her hand shyly on Reba's arm. "I understand. I know," she murmured. Then, "Come, child," she said. "Don't stay here alone. Come out into the kitchen and help us put away the best china."
"Don't put it away yet!" Reba exclaimed. "Please don't put away the things we had out for him—yet."
"All right. We won't then. We won't put it away at all, if you'd kind of like to use it, Reba."
