"Yes, yes!" interrupted the man, very impatiently.
Helen pressed her face against his arm. She divined the pain he was suffering. How was she to soften the hurt her answer would inflict, even her loving heart couldn't imagine.
"She has a baby boy," she whispered.
"God!" groaned Deforrest.
"The baby was born a few days ago, and every day the squatter's been at our house, ostensibly to sell something, but really to tell me about her.... I saw him this morning, and he says they are both doing nicely. Forrie, don't you think—" There was something in her brother's stricken face that broke off her question.
"Don't I think what, dear?" He got up and resumed his restless pacing up and down.
"Oh, I want you to be happy. Couldn't you possibly—forget you've loved her?"
"No, I can't," and he came to a standstill in front of her. "I might as well be truthful, dear, as long as you know this much.... If Tessibel will marry me, I'll take her and the boy—" he choked, paused a few seconds and went on. "I'll take them both away from Ithaca. It's the only happiness in store for me, and I believe I could make her happy, too."
"I can't bear the thought of it," cried Helen, desperately. "Please don't think I'm meddling, but has she told you anything?"
"No. Some one has mistreated the child shamefully, but she won't tell anything about it."