“I do think. I have lain here and thought for hours. I am not ashamed to confess it. Why should I be?”
She looked up at him inquiringly; while he for the moment felt giddy with emotion, but recovered himself directly.
“She is delirious, poor child,” he said to himself; and he tried to remove the enlacing arms from his neck.
“No, no; don’t leave me,” she said softly. “Don’t be angry with me for saying this.”
“I am not angry, but you are weak. You have been very ill, and you must not be excited now.”
“No, I am not excited. I only feel happy—so happy. You are not angry?”
“Angry? No,” he said tenderly. “There, let me lay you back upon your pillow. Try and sleep.”
“No. I do not wish to sleep. Only tell me once again that you are not cross, and then sit down by me, and let me hold your hand.”
“Poor girl!” muttered North, as he felt the hands which had clasped his neck steal down his arm softly and lingeringly, as if they delighted in its strength and muscularity, resting for a few moments upon his wrist, and then grasping his hand tightly, while their owner uttered a low sigh of satisfaction.
He seated himself by the bedside, and Leo said softly, as she lay gazing into his eyes: