Faith said "Come in" in a small, tired voice, and the Beggar Man turned the handle and walked in.
He had not seen her for a week, and his first emotion was one of unutterable thankfulness that she did not look as ill and frail as he had dreaded. She was sitting by the window, and the room was full of flowers, which Peg had bought with his money, and Faith wore a black frock, bought with his money also!
She started up when she saw him, the colour rushing to her face. She looked past him furtively to the door, but evidently realized how hopeless were her chances of escape, for she sat down again resignedly, though her soft, childish face took a curiously hard expression.
"I am glad you are better," said the Beggar Man. He was very nervous; he stood against the door, the width of the room between them, his hands deep-thrust into his pockets so that he should not yield to his impulse to go across to her and take her into his arms. A deep pity for her surged into his heart. She was his wife, but she was only a child, and they were almost strangers.
"Peg has been very good to you—to all of us," he said, hoping to soften her. "I like your friend Peg," he added kindly.
Faith did not move or answer.
"I wanted to speak to you about the future," he went on desperately.
She raised her eyes then; such frightened eyes they were.
"My future has nothing to do with you," she said. "I can go my own way—I don't want any help."
He moved away from the door, dragged a chair up and sat down beside her.