It was Dick’s voice. He was reclining in a deck-chair, wrapped around with rugs, and with a book lying in his lap. He was less drawn and pinched than when he first returned, but the change in him was still great enough to give her a sudden wrench at the heart.
“Oh, Dick! Dick!” she cried, flinging away her muff and rushing to him. “Oh, my poor Dick! What have they done to you?” 273
He smiled weakly, and allowed her to wind her arms about his neck as she knelt by his side.
“They’ve nearly killed me, Dora. But I’m not dead yet. I’m in hiding here, as I understand father told you. You don’t mean to give me the go-by just because people are saying things about me?”
“Indeed, no. But the things they’re saying, Dick, are dreadful, and I wanted to hear from your own lips that they’re not true.”
“You remember what I said to you before I went away?”
“I remember, and I have been loyal to my promise.”
“Well, you can continue loyal, little one. I am no forger—but I fear they’re going to put me into jail, and I must go through with it, as I’ve had to go through lots of ugly things out there.” He shuddered.
“But, Dick, if the charge is false, why cannot you refute it?”
“Ah, there you have me, Dora. If you force me to explain, I will. It concerns one who is near and dear to me, and I would rather be silent. If, however, there is the slightest doubt in your mind of my innocence, you must know everything.”