“Have you acquainted him with the incidents of our early life?” asked Bradley Wentworth, referring to Gerald with a frown.
“Not until this morning. Then, not knowing but I might be cut off suddenly, and uncertain whether you would answer my call, I told him the story.”
“Better have left it untold!” said Wentworth with an uneasy look.
“Nay, he was entitled to know, otherwise he might not have understood why it was that I had buried him and myself here in this wilderness.”
“He would have supposed that you came here for your health. I understand that Colorado is very favorable to those having pulmonary diseases.”
“Yes, but he was entitled to know my past history. He was entitled to know what a sacrifice I had made—for another.”
Bradley Wentworth winced at this allusion, and his forehead involuntarily contracted.
“That is your way of looking at it,” he said abruptly.
“It is the true way of looking at it,” rejoined the sick man firmly.
“Hush!” said Wentworth, looking apprehensively towards the door of the cabin.