At the unexpected touch of gentleness, remorse and renewed tenderness melted him like wax. "Oh, Nahnya," he said brokenly, "I'm sorry! Why can't you tell me?"
"I not know how to give them words," she said simply. "Maybe they are not thoughts, but feelings."
"What are the feelings?" he asked.
"Please!" she said imploringly. "I cannot talk. I have say everything before."
"There's something I want to tell you," Ralph said haltingly, grateful for the darkness that covered him. "Words don't come any too easy to me, either. I want you to know that I'm not sore like a spoiled child that can't have what he wants. I don't seem to matter to myself as much as I did. It goes deeper. I want to tell you I'll never change, Nahnya, not in fifty years, if I live so long. No matter what may happen in between, if I could ever help you—— Oh! I talk like a fool! but I've got to say it! If I could ever help you, I'd come from across the world. Expecting nothing, you know, but just to help you! Oh, damn! If I could feel that you would let me help you it—it wouldn't hurt so much!"
"I would let you help me if you could," she murmured.
"Your hand on that!" he said.
She gave him her hand over his shoulder. Gripping it, he pressed it hard to his cheek, and a single cry was wrung from him:
"Oh, Nahnya, my dear love!"
Gritting his teeth, he forced the rest back. "I will not whine!" he muttered to himself.