Some understanding of her began to creep upon him; he dropped the child's hand, and came a step nearer. Enoch, in these latter days of his life, had forgotten how to smile; but now a sudden, mirthful gleam struck upon his face, and lighted it with the candles of hope. He stood beside her, and Amelia did not look at him.
"Would you go with me, 'Melia?" he asked.
"I'm goin'," said she doggedly. Her case had been lost, but she could not abandon it. She seemed to be holding to it in the face of righteous judgment.
"S'pose I don't ask you?"
"I'll foller on behind."
"Don't ye want to go home, an' lock up, an' git a bunnit?"
She put one trembling hand to the calico apron about her head.
"No."
"Don't ye want to leave the key with some o' the neighbors?"
"I don't want anything in the world but you," owned Amelia shamelessly.