‘Oh, you can!’ says Crosby, laughing. ‘I was never so thanked in all my life. Why, your eyes, Susan! They hold great worlds of gratitude. You’ll have to stop being thankful to me, or I shall run away once more. And’—he looks at her with a half-laugh on his lips, but question in his eyes—‘you would not like to drive me into exile so soon again, would you?’ ‘No, no!’ says Susan. ‘You have been a very long time away as it is.’ ‘You have missed me, I hope—by that.’ ‘We have all missed you,’ says Susan softly. ‘That’s a very general remark. Have _you_ missed me?’ ‘Every hour of the day,’ says Susan fervently—too fervently, too openly. Crosby laughs again, but there is a tincture of disappointment in his mirth this time. ‘Faithful little friend!’ returns he gaily. ‘No, Susan, I don’t think I’ll go in now; but tell Miss Barry from me that I shall come down to-morrow to see her and my little charge. By-the-by, I have kept my promise to you about loving him. It was easy work; I don’t wonder now at your love for him. I assure you I feel downright lonely at the thought of leaving him behind me.’ He presses her hand lightly, and goes towards Bonnie. ‘Well, good-bye, old man,’ says he, catching the child and drawing him towards him. ‘Oh no. Oh, you won’t go!’ says Bonnie anxiously. ‘For the present I must. And mind you go to bed early and sleep well, or there will be a regular row on when next we meet.’ ‘You will come this evening?’ says the child, hardly listening to him. ‘No;’ he shakes his head. ‘To-morrow, then?’ entreats the child, clinging to him. ‘To-morrow, yes.’ He whispers something in his ear, and the boy, flinging his arm round his neck, kisses him warmly. Crosby smiles at Susan. ‘See what chums we are,’ says he. CHAPTER LIV. ‘What Zal said once to Rostum dost thou know? “Think none contemptible who is thy foe.”’ To-morrow brings him, faithful to his word. It brings, too, a great many gifts with him. Is there one child of the house forgotten? Not one. And even Miss Barry is remembered. ‘Oh, how good, how kind of you!’ says Susan. ‘Fancy remembering every one of us!’ ‘I don’t believe I was ever called good before,’ says Crosby. ‘It makes me feel like the bachelor uncle’—as he says this he thinks again of the kiss that Susan had once given him—‘and old, quite hopelessly old!’ ‘Nonsense!’ says Susan. ‘You?’—looking at him—‘you are not old.’ ‘Go to, flatterer! You really shouldn’t, Susan! Flattery is bad for people generally, and for me in particular. I’m very open to it.’ ‘I don’t flatter,’ says Susan. She laughs and runs away to answer a call from her aunt, who is evidently struggling with an idea, in one of the rooms within. ‘Who’s that on the tennis-ground?’ asks Crosby of Betty as they are standing on the hall-door steps.