For a moment Hugh Rowland had almost lost control of himself; then he remembered how horribly cold she was, and he had the presence of mind to start a fire in the big stove that always stood in the center of the waiting-room.
The grateful heat that rose from it quickly brought the breath of life to the girl's white lips. The great, dark, somber eyes opened wide, and she saw the rugged, kindly face of the young station-agent bending over her.
"I found you—you had fainted in the graveyard," he said. "Luckily enough, I was just passing, and I brought you here."
"Oh, why didn't you let me die?" moaned the girl, so bitterly that he was shocked.
"It is very wicked to talk like that," he said, forcing down the great lump that rose in his throat.
"No!" she cried, vehemently. "How could it be very wrong to leave a great, cold, cruel world in which nobody wants you. I have nothing to live for."
"But somebody does want you, Ida May!" cried the great rough fellow, with tears that were no disgrace to his manhood coursing down his cheek. "I want you with all my heart!"
"Hush, hush, hush!" she cried; "you must not talk so to me!" she cried. "Don't say any more! It can never be! You do not know all!"
"Do not say me nay. Give me the right to protect you, Ida. We can go away from this village. I can get a job on the road anywhere along the line. I will work for you, and tend to you so very carefully that you will forget the past!"