When they had been some half hour in bed, there stole a whisper across the darkness of the chamber from one couch to the other; "Patty, are you asleep?" Patience declared that she was wide awake. "Then I'll come to you,"—and Clary's naked feet pattered across the room. "I've just something to say, and I'll say it better here." Patience made glad way for the intruder, and knew that now she would hear it all. "Patty, it is better to wait."
"What do you mean, dear?"
"I mean this. I think he does like me; I'm almost sure he does."
"He said nothing to-night?"
"He said a great deal,—of course; but nothing about that;—nothing about that exactly."
"Oh, Clary, I'm afraid of him."
"What is the good of fear? The evil is, dear, I think he likes me, but it may so well be that he cannot speak out. He is in debt, and all that;—and he must wait."
"But that is so terrible. What will you do?"
"I will wait too. I have thought about it, and have determined. What's the good of loving a man if one won't go through something for him? I do love him,—with all my heart. I pray God I may never have a husband, if I cannot be his wife." Patience shuddered in her sister's embrace, as these bold words were spoken with energy. "I tell you, Patty, just as I tell myself, because you love me so dearly."
"I do love you;—oh, I do love you."