“Why have you played me this cruel trick? Why have you lured me here on a pretence?” she asked again, resentfully.
Before the passion of her distress, parson Tutterville dropped the amiable banter of speech and manner and became grave.
“My dear child,” he answered, taking both her hands in his— “there was no pretence. There is a sick man here who needs you very much, sorely indeed!”
His meaning flashed into her soul almost before the words had left his lips. She formed the word: “David!” And he felt her tremble violently.
“I understood David was away,” she said. “He is ill?”
He was shocked at himself for the anxiety he had unwittingly caused; and, moved to the very core by this depth of feeling he had hitherto barely guessed at:
“Forgive me, child,” he said gently. “David returned yesterday. He is not sick in body—no,” hastily reading yet whiter terror on her face, “nor yet in mind, thank God! But he is sick at heart.”
“Sick at heart!”
“Aye, for want of you!”
Once more Ellinor crimsoned, but this time it was the “lovely banner of love” that flaunted on her poor white face.