So much protecting sympathy given to her, after that letter, made Gwen feel the joy of utter weakness in the presence of strength, of saving support.
"Shall I read that letter?" he asked, putting out his hand.
Gwen clutched it tighter. No, no, that would be fatal! He laid his hand upon hers. Gwen began to tremble. She shook from head to foot, even her teeth chattered. She held tight on to that letter—but she leaned nearer to him.
"Then," said the Warden, without removing his hand, "tell me what is troubling you? It is something in that letter?"
Gwen moved her lips and made a great effort to speak.
"It's—it's nothing!" she said.
"Nothing!" repeated the Warden, just a little sternly.
This was too much for Gwen, the tears rose again swiftly into her eyes and began to drop down her cheeks. "It's only——" she began.
"Yes, tell me," said the Warden, coaxingly, for those tears hurt him, "tell me, child, never mind what it is."
"It's only—," she began again, and now her teeth chattered, "only—that nobody cares what happens to me—I've got no home!"