"We must be careful. Not until to-morrow." She protested with greater earnestness. "True—I have but one arm," he said, with the first accent of bitterness she had heard from him. Her lips parted to give utterance to a sudden rush of words, but she only looked at him, with eyes so eloquent that he answered the look.
"Margaret, do you care? Dear, I have always loved you, I love you now,—can you care?"
She drooped her head on his shoulder, but said nothing. The doctor held her close for a minute, and then, leaving her, began to walk up and down the room.
"It is impossible!"
"It may be impossible," murmured Margaret with a little blush, "but—it is true."
"It is cruel of me to ask it, dear. You are young, beautiful, brilliant—with success at your feet, and I——"
She put up her hand imploringly. It was caught and held. "And I am poor, obscure and—old," he finished, his eyes upon her face.
"I have come to you, Richard. It seemed strange to me. I cannot explain it, but it seems as if everything the world has to offer me is nothing beside——"
"Beside my love?" he bent on one knee beside her chair and put her hand to his lips.
"I want to share your life," she said, and a new expression grew upon her face, a high, devoted look which was half heroic, all womanly. "I want to learn something of the great things, the true things."