“You frighten me,” sighed Lucy.
“Don't you be frightened, sweet angel; there! I have been used to obey orders all my life, and I am like a ship tossed in the breakers, and you are calm—calm as death. Give me my orders, for God's sake.”
“It is not for me to command you, Mr. Dodd. I have forfeited that right. But listen to her who still asks to be your friend, and she will tell you what will be best for you, and kindest and most generous to her.”
“Tell me about that last; the other is a waste of words.”
“I will, then. Your sister is somewhere in the neighborhood.”
“She is at ——; how did you know?”
“I saw her on your arm. I am glad she is so near—Oh, so glad! Bid my uncle and aunt good-by; make some excuse. Go to your sister at once. She loves you. She is better than I am, if you will but see us as we really are. Go to her at once,” faltered Lucy, who disliked Eve, and Eve her.
“I will! I will! I have thought too little of my own flesh and blood. Shall I go now?”
“Yes,” murmured Lucy softly, trying to disarm the fatal word. “Forget me—and—forgive me!” and, with this last word scarce audible, she averted her face, and held out her hand with angelic dignity, modesty and pity.
The kind words and the gentle action brought down the stout heart that had looked death in the face so often without flinching. “Forgive you, sweet angel!” he cried; “I pray Heaven to bless you, and to make you as happy as I am desolate for your sake. Oh, you show me more and more what I lose this day. God bless you! God bless—” and David's heart filled to choking, and he burst out sobbing despairingly, and the hot tears ran suddenly from his eyes over her hand as he kissed and kissed it. Then, with an almost savage feeling of shame (for these were not eyes that were wont to weep), he uttered one cry of despair and ran away, leaving her pale and panting heavily.