And I told him my story.
He listened, gaining strength with every word I uttered.
“So for a mere hope which might never have developed, you were ready to give up a fortune,” was all he said.
“It was not that which troubled me,” was my reply, uttered in all candor. “It was the thought that I must disappoint you in a matter you seem to have taken to heart.”
“Yes, yes,” he muttered as if to himself.
And I stood wondering, lost in surprise at this change in his wishes and asking myself over and over as I turned on the lights and helped him back to his easy chair in the big room, what had occasioned this change, and whether it would be a permanent one or pass with the possible hallucinations of his present fevered condition.
To clear up this point and make sure that I should not be led to play the fool in a situation of such unexpected difficulty, I ventured to ask him what he wished me to do now—whether I should remain where I was or go down and make my young cousin’s acquaintance.
“She seemed very happy,” I assured him. “Evidently she does not know that you are upstairs and ill.”
“I do not want her to know it. Not till a half hour before supper-time. Then she may come up. I will allow you to carry her this message; but she must come up alone.”
“Shall I call Wealthy?” I asked, for his temporary excitement was fast giving away to a renewed lassitude.