“Earle, how deeply you have suffered from it,” Editha said, almost awed by the intensity of his feeling, and wondering, too, at his way of looking at the past, as if in some way his trial was meant for his ultimate good.
“But I will rise above it yet; it may be hard for me to battle against the frowns and distrust of the world for awhile, but I sail not allow them to dishearten me—if only I had a few more friends,” he added, wistfully.
“You cannot long be without them, with such nobility and resolution in your soul,” Editha answered, her face glowing with admiration for him, “and you may count me the warmest of them all until you find a better.”
She involuntarily held out her hand as if to seal the compact as she spoke.
He grasped it eagerly, his whole face luminous with sudden joy; his breath came quickly, his broad breast rose and fell, his eyes sought hers with an intensity of expression that made her vail them with her white lids.
She did not know how she was tempting him—she could not know how he had grown to love her during the past six years, and how sweet and cheering her sympathy was to him just now, when he felt himself so friendless and alone in the great cold world.
“God bless you, Editha! If—I——”
He had begun to speak in low, concentrated tones, but now he stopped short, as if some great inward shock had suddenly cut off his power of speech.
He shut his teeth tightly together and drew in his breath with a quick gasp; the great veins in his forehead filled and stood out full and purple, and his hands locked themselves together with the intensity of some deep, inward emotion.
One quick, searching look Edith flashed up at him, and then her eyes fell again, a rosy flush rising to her very brow at what she had seen on his face.