Sob upon sob seemed wrung from her soul by the grief that was deeper than I ever suspected. She was totally unconscious of my presence when I placed my hand upon her head in a gentle caress. She rested against me with a sigh.
"I have thought about it so much of late. I think my heart is breaking. I try to tell father, but he cannot understand. But you can, you do understand."
"Yes," I said, "I do understand. And I know that the worst is still before you."
"Oh, no, nothing can be worse," she cried, as if she would ward off a blow.
"Your father is old. He must some day leave you."
"Alone! I shall be alone?" she cried. "I cannot go on alone. I cannot do it, I tell you! When he is gone I shall die also. I shall be old then, and I shall welcome death when he tardily comes."
It was awful to hear a young woman with all of life before her talking like this. I permitted her to weep until her tears ceased to flow of their own accord. When she became quieter she looked up in my face, and wonder was written on her countenance.
"You understand!" was all she said, but there was something like awe in her voice.
"It was because I understood that I would do all in my power to prevent you sacrificing yourself. It was because I understood that I would not escape, when I could, to give you additional cause for worry. It was because I understood that I will keep your secret forever. Now, do you understand at last?"
"But, how do you know all these things? You have read my very soul and made me say that which I never dreamed I should say to any one."