“But, Noll——”
“I know what you are going to ask, Betty. No; my father and I did not part on the best of terms. I did not think that my father would have sold my freedom.”
Betty sighed.
Noll heard the sigh, and came out of his brooding fit.
He took her hand:
“Nay, Betty,” said he—“we must not fill this dear trysting-place with glum ghosts. I love you, sweetheart—and I have no love for such as would rob me of you.”
“But, Noll”—the tears came brimming to her eyes—“I do not want my love to be a pain to all these others.”
“You have done nothing to give them pain, dear heart,” said he. “They have brought their own pain.... Why did my father sell me? It is not you that come between us, but the shabby husk of him.... The last generation cannot wholly understand. Each new brood must live its own experience. Why should he put the brutalities between you and me? He is not your lover, nor can his choice of loves be mine.... There are limits to obedience. They have nearly starved me, body and soul—they have, by their folly, even turned my hungry eyes to the poor women of the streets. And for so poor a reason.... But”—he looked at her gladly—“you have won me back myself, dear heart—the world is very sweet to me this day.”
She bent forward and put her dainty hand upon his cheek:
“I love you, Noll—but I wish we had not to steal our meetings.”