"But you offered me your gold watch to—"
"True!" I admitted, a little put out. "But I—I did not know or understand you—then."
"And do you now?"
"I think so—or at least enough to know that you can also help me if you will—"
"How could I help you?" she questioned wistfully.
"You might perhaps teach me to be—less of a coward—more like yourself—"
"Like me?" she repeated, wondering.
"You are so strong, Diana, so brave and fearless and I—ran away like the coward I am—left you alone to face—"
Here, once more overcome by memory of my shame, I covered my face; but now, all at once, perceiving my abasement and bitter remorse, moved by a sweet impulse she clasped her arm about my stooping shoulders and sought earnestly to comfort me.
"There, there," she murmured, her voice very soft and sweet, "never grieve so, Peregrine—you're no coward! When a coward runs away, he keeps running in the same direction; a coward don't come back to be beaten black and blue—see your poor face!"