“It’s all right, Karasch; don’t say any more;” and I stretched out my hand to him. He took it and held it as he answered almost emotionally:
“You’re a better man than I am every way, by the living God. I’m only a dog beside you, but I’ll serve you like a dog, if you’ll let me.” His earnestness amounted to passion now.
“Not like a dog, Karasch; not even like our good Chris; but like a man and a friend.”
“I’m not fit to be your friend; I’m only a peasant when I’m nothing worse; but I’ll be your man, God send the chance to prove it. And now you lead and I follow.” He let my hand drop and fell behind and nothing would induce him to ride farther at my side.
I was deeply touched by his earnestness. I had had many men offer themselves to me before—a man with such wealth as I possessed always will have. But this man was moved by no thought of personal advantage. It was to Burgwan, the man, he pledged himself, not to the millionaire; and I prized the offer for that reason alone.
But this act in falling behind and leaving me to take the lead just at that juncture was not without its embarrassment. It made the pretence of having followed his lead to Samac the more difficult to keep up; and I rode through the town in no little doubt and hesitation what to do.
Inclination drew me straight to the station, and Mademoiselle; while that pricking consciousness that was doing a cowardly thing warned me away.
But love and doggedness triumphed. I had come too far to retreat; and now that I was so near to her I lacked the pluck to keep away from her.
I did what I had felt I should do. I rode straight to the station and, giving my horse into Karasch’s charge, I entered it to look for her.
She was there, sitting in the miserable waiting-room, dejected and sorrowful, and bending over Chris as he squatted on his haunches beside her, with his great head in her lap.