"I would rather stand Absalom," she faltered, "than stand having you go away."
"But, Tillie," he turned almost fiercely upon her—"Tillie, I would rather see you dead at my feet than to see your soul tied to that clod of earth!"
A wild thrill of rapture shot through Tillie's heart at his words. For an instant she looked up at him, her soul shining in her eyes. "Does he—does HE—care that much what happens to me?" throbbed in her brain.
For the first time Fairchilds fully realized, with shame at his blind selfishness, the danger and the cruelty of his intimate friendship with this little Mennonite maid. For her it could but end in a heartbreak; for him—"I have been a cad, a despicable cad!" he told himself in bitter self-reproach. "If I had only known! But now it's too late—unless—" In his mind he rapidly went over the simple history of their friendship as they walked along; and, busy with her own thought, Tillie did not notice his abstraction.
"Tillie," he said suddenly. "Next Saturday there is an examination of applicants for certificates at East Donegal. You must take that examination. You are perfectly well prepared to pass it."
"Oh, do you really, REALLY think I am?" the girl cried breathlessly.
"I know it. The only question is, How are you going to get off to attend the examination?"
"Father will be at the Lancaster market on Saturday morning!"
"Then I'll hire a buggy, come out to the farm, and carry you off!"
"No—oh, no, you must not do that. Father would be so angry with you!"