"Several
times, when he could, he sent me money for my savings-bank account," she
finished simply, her sweet old voice low and tender with the memories
of the years that were gone. "John and I were always very fond of each
other. He was a good man, Brian."
Brian Kent sat like a man stricken dumb. Auntie Sue's words, "he sent me
money for my savings-bank account," had made the connection between the
names "Buenos Aires, Argentine; John Wakefield; Susan Wakefield," and
the thing for which his mind had been groping with such a sense of
impending disaster.
In her grief over the death of her brother, and in her memories of their
home years so long past, dear old Auntie Sue had forgotten the peculiar
meaning her words might have for the former clerk of the Empire
Consolidated Savings Bank who sat beside her, and to whom she turned in
her sorrow as a mother to a dearly beloved son.
"But it is all right, Brian, dear," she said with brave cheerfulness.
"When one has watched the sunsets for seventy years, one ceases to fear
the coming of the night, for always there is the morning. Just let me
rest here alone for a little while, and I will be myself again."
She looked up at him with a smile, and Brian Kent, kneeling beside the
bed, bowed his head and caught the dear old hands to his lips. Without
trusting himself to speak again, the man left the room,--closing the
door.
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