"I shall be at the station," she whispered, as he kissed her forehead; "we can say things to each other then," and he understood her and nodded.
But later on, as Mr.Carlyon sat beside his son's bed-side, with the worn little book of devotions out of which he had been reading to him still open in his hands, he was struck with the strained, troubled look in David's eyes.
"What is it, my dear ?" he said wistfully, for the curate-in-charge of Stokeley had homely little ways and tricks of speech that endeared him still more to those who loved him, and Elizabeth would often praise the simplicity and unobtrusive goodness that reminded her of David.
"There is something on your mind," he continued tenderly; "make a clean breast of it, my boy.

You and I understand each other--don't we, Davie ?" and Mr.Carlyon gently patted his son's hand, as though he were still a little child.

"Out with it, lad--you are not quite happy about Ventnor ?" "Father, how could you guess that ?" returned David in a deprecating voice.

"If you knew how I hate myself for being so cowardly and ungrateful.

Promise me--promise me, dad, that you will never let Elizabeth know how badly I feel about it; it would make her so unhappy." "So it would, poor girl--so it would," rejoined Mr.Carlyon, for in his eyes Elizabeth was still a girl, and the very dearest of daughters to him.
"She and Dinah have planned it all for me," continued David.