Again she struggled from him, trembling.
“I am not doing right,” she said firmly. “If you love me, Rob—”
“If I love you!” he said reproachfully.
“I am sure you have pity for me,” she said, taking his hand and raising it to her lips, to utter a cry of horror, for the hand was bleeding freely, and the ruddy current dyed her lips.
“Hurt in my defence,” she said with a pained smile, as she bound her own handkerchief about the bleeding knuckles.
“I’d die in your defence,” he whispered passionately; “your protector always, dearest.”
“Then protect me now,” she said, “that I am weak, and let me trust in you. You wish me to be your wife, Robert?”
“Eh? Yes, of course, of course,” he said hurriedly.
“And you won’t let your mother sending me away make any difference?”
“How could it, little stupid! I’m not a boy,” he said, banteringly. “But I must go now, and, as for Master Caleb Kent, I’ll just set the policeman on his track.”