"Help me up, dear," the man begged. "I must get up. I must get to the door. Don't you understand, child—I must see."
"But you can't go out, Dave!"
"I know. I know. Only to the door. But—I must see."
The girl came over to his bedside. She lifted him with a great effort. He sat up. Then he swung his feet off the bed.
"Now, little girl, help me."
It felt good to him to enforce his will upon Betty in this way. And the girl obeyed him with all her strength, with all her heart stirred at his evident weakness.
He stood leaning on her shakily.
"Now, little Betty," he said, breathing heavily, "take me to the door."
He placed his sound arm round her shoulders. He even leaned more heavily upon her than was necessary. It was good to lean on her. He liked to feel her soft round shoulders under his arm. Then, too, he could look down upon the masses of warm brown hair which crowned her head. To him his weakness was nothing in the joy of that moment, in the joy of his contact with her.
They moved slowly toward the door; he made the pace slower than necessary. To him they were delicious moments. To Betty—she did not know what she felt as her arm encircled his great waist, and all her woman's strength and love was extended to him.