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           Themournersdepartedontheirhorses,backshunchedinsidetheiroilskins,someofthemstaringmiserablyattheprospectofruin,othersthankingGodtheyhadescapeddeathandthefire.AndFatherRalphgothisfewthingstogether,knowinghemustgobeforehecouldn’tgo.

           HewenttoseeFee,whereshesatattheescritoirestaringmutelydownatherhands.

           "Fee,willyoubeallright?"heasked,sittingwherehecouldseeher.

           Sheturnedtowardhim,sostillandquenchedwithinhersoulthathewasafraid,andclosedhiseyes.

           "Yes,Father,I’llbeallright.Ihavethebookstokeep,andfivesonsleft—sixifyoucountFrank,onlyIdon’tsupposewecancountFrank,canwe?Thankyouforthat,morethanIcaneversay.It’ssuchacomforttomeknowingyourpeoplearewatchingoutforhim,makinghislifealittleeasier.Oh,ifIcouldseehim,justonce!"

           Shewaslikealighthouse,hethought;flashesofgriefeverytimehermindcameroundtothatpitchofemotionwhichwastoogreattobecontained.Ahugeflare,andthenalongperiodofnothing.

           "Fee,Iwantyoutothinkaboutsomething."

           "Yes,what?"shewasdarkagain.

           "Areyoulisteningtome?"heaskedsharply,worriedandsuddenlymorefrightenedthanbefore.

           Foralongmomenthethoughtshehadretreatedsofarintoherselfeventheharshnessofhisvoicehadn’tpenetrated,butupblazedthebeaconagain,andherlipsparted.