“Nay,” he said, very tenderly, “the ‘oughts’ and ‘ought nots’ of custom do not apply to us, situated as we are. Are you not among people who make you unhappy? Am I not a man whose life you have saved, and who would do anything in the world for you? Can you not trust me as I trust you? Why then shouldn’t you talk with me? Tell me, what if my life were not at stake?”
“I have forgot what I was saying.”
“If my life were not at stake, you would not bid me go?”
“How can I tell?—Why shouldn’t I?”
“You were startled to see me here. Did you not think I might come?”
She could have truly answered that she had been without the slightest expectation of ever seeing him again. Yet she had permitted her imagination the indulgence of a vague scene of future meeting, not far unlike that which was now taking place. The consciousness of this added to the sweet embarrassment she felt, and she could only reply, foolishly, “Why should I have thought so?”
Everell sighed, realizing that, as far as speeches went, he was not making rapid progress. “At all events,” said he, rallying his powers of gaiety, “here I am, and in this neighbourhood I mean to stay for a time, so ’tis of no use bidding me go—”
“But are you safe in this neighbourhood?” she broke in, her eyes forgetting their shyness in searching his face to see if his confidence was real. “That man at the inn may have described you to many people.”
“I will take care none of them see me. I have a secure hiding-place in the wilderness, and a friend to supply my wants. I shall be visible to none but him—and you.”
“To me? How to me?”