“Yes, it is. No man would do it. Pugs and Persian cats do that sort of thing. For 122 men there are proper times for giving out. But there is one thing I should like to say–that is, that my life is yours. This skeleton belongs to you, and the soul that goes with it. Henceforth I shall be your slave. I do not aspire to be treated as your equal; just an abject, reverent, willing slave.”
She smiled and played with the ears of the sleeping Solomon.
“I am serious,” and Pats raised himself on one elbow. “Just from plain, unvarnished gratitude–if from nothing else–I shall always do whatever you command–live, die, steal, commit murder, scrub floors, anything–I don’t care what.”
“Do you really mean it?”
“I do.”
“Then stop talking.”
With closed eyes he fell back into his former position. But again, partially raising himself, he asked, “May I say just one thing more?”
“No.”
Again he fell back, and there was silence.
For a time Elinor sat with folded hands gazing dreamily beyond the point over the distant gulf, a dazzling, vivid blue beneath the July sun. When at last she turned with a question 123upon her lips and saw the closed eyes and tranquil breathing of the convalescent, she held her peace. Then came a drowsy sense of her own fatigue. Cautiously, that the sleeper might not awake, she also reclined, at full length, and closed her eyes. Delicious was the soft air: restful the carpet of pine-needles. No cradle-song could be more soothing than the muffled voices of the pines: and the lady slept.