"But he refuses to allow me to go on. I have the papers and I am to burn them if I choose."
Linda smiled, a little mysterious, exultant smile. "That doesn't alter my point of view."
"And so you refuse to allow him to be a hero."
"He isn't the only hero in the world. He himself told me of another." There was a wise, kind expression in her eyes.
Berkley slipped down from the window seat to a cushion at her feet. She bent over him as a mother over her child. "Linda," he said whisperingly. "Linda." He took her soft hand in his strong lithe fingers, and she let it lie there. He pressed the cool little hand against his hot brow, then he looked up. "Linda," he repeated, "here I am at your feet. I love you so! Oh, how I love you! I know I don't deserve it, but do you think you could ever learn to care a little for me? I am not rich, but some day maybe I could buy back Talbot's Angles. There is nothing I would not do to make you happy."
"You said that once before, Berk."
"Did I?"
"Yes,—that night in the rain."
"I meant it."
"As much as you do now?"