"You are free?" he repeated, with quick interrogation.
Yet an instant longer she hesitated. Then she leaned her head against his pillow with a little sob. "No,—I'm not free, Noel. I—have given myself—to you!"
"Because I'm blind!" he said.
"No, dear, no! Once free—I should have come to you—in any case."
"Would you?" he said. "Would you? You're quite sure? You're not saying it out of pity? I won't have you marry me out of pity, Olga. I couldn't stand it."
"Oh, you needn't be afraid of that!" she said. Then a moment later,
"When I marry you," she murmured softly, "it will be—for love."
There was no mistaking the sincerity of the words, though even then as it were in spite of himself he knew that the passionate adoration he had poured out to her had awakened no answering rapture in her heart. The very fashion of her surrender told him this. He might come first with her indeed, but the full gift was no longer hers to offer.
"I wonder if you will be happy with me," he said, after a moment.
"It is my only chance of happiness," she made answer.
"How do you know?" There was curiosity in his voice: he made a movement of impatient impotence, putting a hand that trembled up to his bandaged head.