“I—I think I know,” she said quietly.
The man’s face lit for a moment.
“I knew you would,” he cried, in a burst of enthusiasm. Then the light died out of his eyes again, and he shook his head. “But you can’t,” he said hopelessly. “Nobody can, but—me. I love old Charlie.”
“What does your head say?” asked Helen abruptly.
“My head?” The man released his knees and pushed back his hat, as though for her to read for herself. “Guess my head says I best get aboard a train quick, and get right back East where I came from, and—stop there.”
“And leave Charlie to his—fate?” suggested the girl.
The man nodded.
“That’s what my head says.”
“And your heart?”
Helen’s gray eyes were very tender as they looked into the troubled face beside her.