George's one effort has been to persuade me that Mr. Thurber is not ill or in trouble; and he looks at me gravely when he thinks I am not observing him. His sympathy I repulse, and his attempts at consolation meet with no response from me. I have not been kind to him lately; in fact, I have not been kind to any one,—least of all to myself.
To-day will be spent in farewells; and to-morrow we shall bid good-by to Russia and the Russians forever.
Evening.
As I wrote those words, a familiar voice in the next room set my heart to beating furiously. I closed my journal, rose to my feet, but for a minute could not move.
He had come at last. He was in the next room, talking to Grace! I summoned all my self-control to my aid, and went in.
In my desire not to show too much emotion, I felt that I was giving him a cold reception; but Tom made up for it by his boisterous greetings. He began to ask questions.
"We certainly thought you must have shot yourself or been eaten by a bear. What have you been doing? Why did you stay so long?"
As I surveyed Mr. Thurber's tall figure, standing in our midst, it seemed to me that he had grown more unbending than ever. He looked pleased, however, and slightly excited.
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