'But, Jerrie,' Harold said, laying his hand upon her shoulder, as they slowly walked on, 'wait a little before you condemn me utterly. I wanted to come quite as much as you wanted to have me. I remembered what a help it was to me when I was graduated to see your face in the crowd, and know by its expression that you were satisfied.'
'I did not suppose you saw me,' Jerry exclaimed, her voice very different in its tone from what it had been at first.
'Saw you!' and Harold's hand tightened its grasp on her shoulder. 'Saw you! I scarcely saw any one else except you, and Maude, who sat beside you. I knew you would be there, and I looked the room over, missing you at first, and feeling as if something were wanting to fire me up; then, when I found you, the inspiration came, and if I began to flag ever so little, I had only to look at your blue eyes and my blood was up again.'
This was a great deal for Harold to say and he felt half frightened when he had said it; but Jerrie's answer was reassuring.
'Oh, I didn't know that. I am so glad you told me.'
They were close to the Tramp House now. The walk from the station had been hot and dusty, and Jerry was tired, so she said to Harold:
'Let's go in a moment; it looks so cool in there.'
So they went in, and Jerry sat down upon a bench, while Harold took a seat upon the table where Jerrie once had slept, with the shadow of death around her, and the carpet-bag for her covering.
'I suppose you had peals of applause and flowers by the bushel,' Harold said.
'Yes,' Jerry replied, 'applause enough, and flowers enough—twenty bouquets and baskets in all, including yours. It was kind in you to send it.'