“Oh, Jack,” she panted. “You are not yourself now. You are weak and just imagine things.”
“Imagine things,” he cried with a kind of fierce rage. “Imagine! Haven't I for these three months fought against this every day? Oh, Kathleen, if you only knew. Do you love me a little, even a little?”
Suddenly the girl ceased her struggling. “A little!” she cried. “No, Jack, not a little, but with all my heart I love you. I should not tell you to-night, and, oh, I meant to be so strong and not let you speak till you were well again, but I can't help it. But are you quite sure, Jack? Are you sure you won't regret this when you are well again?”
He put his strong arm round about her and drew her close. “I can't half hold you, darling,” he said in her ear. “This confounded arm of mine—but you do it for me. Put your arms around me, sweetheart, and tell me that you love me.”
She wreathed her arms round about his neck and drew him close. “Oh, Jack,” she said, “I may be wrong, but I am so happy, and I never thought to be happy again. I cannot believe it. Oh, what awful days these have been!” she said with a break in her voice and hiding her face upon his shoulder.
“Never mind, sweetheart, think of all the days before us.”
“Are you sure, Jack?” she whispered to him, still hiding her face. “Are you very sure that you will not be ashamed of me? I felt so dreadful and I came in just to help you, and I was so sure of myself. But when I saw you lying there, Jack, I just could not help myself.” Her voice broke.
He turned her face up a little toward him. “Look at me,” he said. She opened her eyes and, looking steadily into his, held them there. “Say, 'Jack, I love you,'” he whispered to her.
A great flood of red blood rushed over her face, then faded, leaving her white, but still her eyes held his fast. “Jack,” she whispered, “my Jack, I love you.”
“Kathleen, dear heart,” he said.