"Hush, my boy! You must talk quietly if you wish to keep me here," she said very soothingly. "I promised Dr. Bethune that I would not let you get excited. You are not quite yourself, or you would not say such things."
Phil strove to subdue his agitation.
"Lean down closer, Miss Crawford," he said, after a few minutes, "I don't want anybody but you to hear. There, let your hand stay under mine, so," and Phil laid his on the top of hers, "and when you begin to hate me, draw it away; but let me keep it till you do begin to hate me, won't you?"
In broken sentences, and with many interruptions, Phil got through his story. He need not have feared: Miss Crawford did not withdraw her hand; only when he arrived at the very saddest part of all, and he knew that she could guess the end, her other hand came to keep the first one company. With so gentle a touch did she place it upon Phil's that it did not hurt him in the least, while in a voice of infinite pity, and with the tears running down her cheeks, she said:
"Poor boy, poor boy! And you went through all that!"
It was over at last. Phil felt inexpressibly relieved that he had unburdened his mind, and confessed his sin.
"Phil," said Miss Crawford presently, "I cannot help thinking how good God has been to you. Have you thanked Him?"
"Yes, indeed, I have," he replied. "But sometimes I wish that after I had saved Millie, He had let me die. Nobody wants me here. I am no good to anybody."
"Don't talk so, dear boy. What, would you have Millie left alone in the world?"
"No, that is all I care to live for," he answered sorrowfully; "for though I have troubled her so, I know it would break her heart to lose me. Miss Crawford," he added earnestly, "if I die, you'll never forget Millie, will you?"