“So you love me, Nellie?” he said, somewhat abruptly. “You be sure you love me?”
It was hardly a question, he was too certain of it, and no man should be certain of a woman’s love.
She made no answer in words, but the pretty blue eyes smiled down at him so confidingly, that for a moment the man was smitten with remorse. What good would this love ever do her?
“You poor child!” he said. “You poor little girl. I believe you do. Don’t do it, Nellie—don’t be such a fool.”
“Why?” she asked simply.
“Why? Because I shall do you no good.”
“But I love you,” she whimpered, “an’ you won’t harm me.”
“No, by —— I won’t.” And for the moment perhaps he meant to keep his oath, for he half rose, as if there and then he would have left her. Perhaps it was too much to expect—all his companions feared him, the outside world hunted him, only this woman believed in him and loved him; and if it is a great thing to be loved, it is a still greater thing to be believed in and trusted. And so when she put her arms around him and drew him back he yielded.
“It is your own fault, Nell, your own fault—don’t blame me.”
“No,” she said, satisfied because he had stayed. “I won’t—never.” Then she ran her fingers through his hair again.