“May I not ask for one line?” he continued, still holding her hand.
“Certainly: so kind a friend as you shall hear all I can tell; that is, all I am at liberty to tell.”
“A friend! Yes, I am a friend; and I will not urge any other claim just now. Perhaps—”
Ellinor could not affect to misunderstand him. His manner implied even more than his words.
“No!” she said, eagerly. “We are friends. That is it. I think we shall always be friends, though I will tell you now—something—this much—it is a sad secret. God help me! I am as guilty as poor Dixon, if, indeed, he is guilty—but he is innocent—indeed he is!”
“If he is no more guilty than you, I am sure he is! Let me be more than your friend, Ellinor—let me know all, and help you all that I can, with the right of an affianced husband.”
“No, no!” said she, frightened both at what she had revealed, and his eager, warm, imploring manner. “That can never be. You do not know the disgrace that may be hanging over me.”
“If that is all,” said he, “I take my risk—if that is all—if you only fear that I may shrink from sharing any peril you may be exposed to.”
“It is not peril—it is shame and obloquy—” she murmured.
“Well! shame and obloquy. Perhaps, if I knew all I could shield you from it.”