"I always expected," he went on, in a more quiet way, "to be able to
come home and tell my mother about my first triumphs. She would have
been so proud and happy over the smallest thing. Her father was a
distinguished surgeon--Marchmont of Baltimore. He died only four years
ago--his books are an authority on certain subjects. My other
grandfather was Dr. Andrew Churchill of Glasgow--an old-school physician
and a good one. So you see I come honestly by my love for it all. And
mother--how we used to talk it all over--"
He stopped abruptly, with a tightening of the lips, and stood staring
off over the frozen fields, his eyes growing sombre. Charlotte's own
eyes fell; her heart beat fast with sympathy. She laid the lightest of
touches on his arm.
"I know," she said, softly. "Fieldsy told me--a little bit. I'm so
sorry."
He drew a long breath and looked down at her, his eyes searching her
face. "You _are_ a little comrade," he said, and his voice was low and
moved. Then with a quick motion he seized her hands again and they were
off, back down the river. Not so fast as before, and silently, the two
skaters covered the miles, and only as they came within sight of the
crowd of people at the beginning of the course did Doctor Churchill
speak.
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