"I don't intend to argue about it," he said. "You are free to settle everything your own way. It appeared to me like I must tell you my opinion. That's the end of it, Deely." He paused. "I got a letter from Mr. Lance; says he's got back, and is coming up to see you. But I am going away to-morrow."
Adela started violently. "You going away!" Then she trembled toward him and laid her hands on his shoulders. "Oh no, no! Don't leave me now, Sylv. Don't go away!"
"I must," he replied. "I've got through. I've done all I can. I must go back to work for Mr. Lance."
Adela's hands still rested on his arms. He could hardly move them otherwise than to enfold and sustain her. Unable to support herself, she drooped and sank toward him for an instant.
"Dear—dear—sister," he almost groaned, "don't despair! Don't give way! I wish I could save you from suffering."
She recovered herself and stood upright before him, looking into his eyes. She trembled, and he longed to embrace her once more, holding her to his heart for as long as he should live. But neither of them made any movement toward such a renewal of her dependence upon him. Steadily, yet with a kind of doubt and fear, they gazed at one another; and the whole story of their hearts was made clear. But not one word of passion was uttered.
"I must leave—must leave to-morrow," Sylv repeated, as they started simultaneously to go back to the school; "and I think I will send Dennie up here." Instead of advancing this proposition with the courage he wanted to show, he made it sound like the knell of all their hopes. Nerving himself, he added: "Shall I tell him you've forgiven him?"
This time, by a prodigious effort, he spoke bravely; yet his eyes, without his knowledge, seemed to beg her to come to the aid of his failing fortitude.
"Shall I tell him?"
"Yes."