The girl's eyes grew wide with wonder. "Desert you? Why do you put it in that way? I don't understand."
"You will come back to me?" insisted the other.
"Yes. Why,—why, it means everything to me. It means life,—more than that, most wonderful friend. Life isn't very sweet to me. But the joy of giving it to you for ever is the dearest boon I crave. I DO give it to you. It belongs to you. I—I could die for you."
She dropped to her knees and pressed her lips to Sara Wrandall's hand; hot tears fell upon it.
Mrs. Wrandall laid her free hand on the dark, glossy hair and smiled; smiled warmly for the first time in—well, in years she might have said to herself if she had stopped to consider.
"Get up, my dear," she said gently. "I shall not ask you to die for me—if you DO come back. I may be sending you to your death, as it is, but it is the chance we must take. A few hours will tell the tale. Now listen to what I am about to say,—to propose. I offer you a home, I offer you friendship and I trust security from the peril that confronts you. I ask nothing in return, not even a word of gratitude. You may tell the people at your lodgings that I have engaged you as companion and that we are to sail for Europe in a week's time if possible. Now we must prepare to go to my own home. You will see to packing my—that is, our trunks—"
"Oh, it—it must be a dream!" cried Hetty Castleton, her eyes swimming. "I can't believe—" Suddenly she caught herself up, and tried to smile. "I don't see why you do this for me. I do not deserve—"
"You have done me a service," said Mrs. Wrandall, her manner so peculiar that the girl again assumed the stare of perplexity and wonder that had been paramount since their meeting: as if she were on the verge of grasping a great truth.
"What CAN you mean?"
Sara laid her hands on the girl's shoulders and looked steadily into the puzzled eyes for a moment before speaking.