“Yes; it comforts me too,” said Nancy. “But still, I am sure you ought to tell.”
“Now, why, you little goose? Do consider and be sensible, Nan. Oh, you must squeeze your arms round my neck again; I do so love to feel them! You know I am deeply attached to you, Nancy. I never mean to let you go out of my life—never.”
“Oh!” answered Nancy.
“And you love me too; don’t you, little darling?”
“I—I pity you,” said Nancy, her voice trembling.
“Well, well! pity is akin to love. But now to the point at issue. Remember what my doctor said. I am almost sure I shall not take the smallpox, and there would be no use in vaccinating me, for I certainly should not take that; so what would be the good of frightening every one? Think of the awful fortnight they would have, not being certain any moment whether I should get ill or not.”
“Yes, but Nora and Kitty could go away.”
“Where would be the use of that? I cannot infect them unless I get it. The clothes I wore when I was with Flora are hanging up in my cupboard. I have nothing on me that I wore then. Nancy, do believe that I am wiser than you. It would be cruel to frighten them all. I will tell them afterwards—yes, I will tell them afterwards, when the fortnight is past, when the danger is over; and meanwhile, if you will only be silent, I will do everything for you that I promised to do if you had helped me last night. Think what that means: the paper I robbed you of returned; and all the story of your past life explained. What a time we shall have together! And how wise you will be when you know the truth!”
“And my bird—my darling Sunbeam?” whispered Nancy.
“Perhaps I will tell about that too. I am awfully sorry about it. But, anyhow, you shall know the two other things, and we will be a good bit together for the next few days. Nancy, the moment I feel ill, the least little scrap ill, with a headache or anything, I will go away to my room, and no one shall see me but you. You are not nervous about yourself, are you?”