"No, not I. I can't claim that. I 've been selfish—intensely, cowardly selfish."
He meant to stand squarely before this woman. He would not soil his act by any hypocrisy. But she only smiled back at him unbelieving.
He glanced at his watch. It was eight o'clock. He was ready now to return to the hotel. He wished to leave at once, for he shrank from the undeserved gratitude he saw welling up in her eyes.
"You must listen carefully to what I tell you," he said, "for I may not be able to see you again before you leave. Do you think you can get ready without any help?"
"Yes," she answered excitedly; "there is n't much here to pack up."
"If I were you I would n't pack up anything but what I could put in a trunk. Sell off these things for what you can get and start fresh. I'll send you enough to furnish the house."
"I ought to do that much myself," she objected feebly.
"No, I want to do this thing right up chuck. As soon as I reach the hotel I will telephone the Deacon. If I can't buy that house, I 'll get another, and in either case, I will drop you a note to-night. I 'll arrange to have the deed left with some one up there, and I 'll also deposit in the local bank enough for the other things. So all you 've to do is to get ready and start on Tuesday. Do you understand?"
"Yes! Yes!" she gasped. "But it doesn't sound true—it sounds like a dream."
"Are you going to have faith enough to act on it?"