"Has he told her he is dying, or has he left that pleasing piece of intelligence for me to break to her?" he questioned.
What a remarkably ugly view it was! He wondered whether the preacher was among the men down there, or confined himself to preaching and left working to the sinners. What should he do if Mrs. Thorpe cried?
"Mr. Sauls!" said Meg; and he turned round and met her glance. She was quivering with happiness. Her eyes were misty with tears, but her joy shone through them. He had never seen any face that expressed joy so vividly as hers.
"No; he has not told her,—I can't," George decided hastily. He did not often fail in moral courage, and over-sensitiveness was not among his faults; but this woman always brought out a side of his character that was exceedingly unfamiliar to himself.
"I am so very, very glad that he will see me!" she cried. "You can't guess what it is to have a word from him again. I don't know how to thank you enough for bringing it." She looked again at the precious slip of paper in her hand, and a fresh thought struck her.
"My father says, 'I would have seen you before if I had known'. Was it you who found out that I tried to see him? and did you tell him so?—Yes? Oh, you have been a very good"—"friend" was on the tip of her tongue, but she suddenly remembered his odd disclaimer of friendship—"have been very kind to me; though I wonder" (thoughtfully) "that Mrs. Russelthorpe let you tell him."
"She was a little disinclined to allow an interview at first," said George smiling; "but—but she felt the force of my arguments."
"You must be very clever at persuading people."
"I was very persuasive," he said drily.
The remembrance of his "persuasion" amused him somewhat; but he did not care about giving Meg the details of that scene.