“Oh!”
She turned her wild eyes upon me, and her pale face flushed crimson as she rose to leave the room, hurrying away and leaving me wondering whether I ought to go.
I had just concluded that I ought, and, taking up a sheet of paper, I had written a few lines saying how very sorry I was that I had been an unwilling listener, when she came back with her hair re-arranged, and looking pale and calm.
“Were you writing to me, Antony?” she said.
“Yes, Miss Carr.”
“Let me see.”
She read that which I had written, and smiled sadly. Then, tearing up the note, she took my hand and led me once more to the couch.
“I am sorry that you heard what passed, Antony,” she said; “but since I have known you, I have gradually grown to look upon you as a friend as well as a protégé; you have told me your little history, and every time I have seen you, you have shown me the fruit of the teachings of those to whom you were very dear. I feel quite happy in knowing that you, as the son of a gentleman, Antony, will hold all that you have heard quite sacred.”
“If you will only believe in and trust me,” I cried.
“I do believe in and trust you, Antony,” she said warmly. “Now I am going to ask you to leave me, and come again to-morrow, after you have been to the engineer’s office. I am not well, and I should be glad to be alone.”