“Yes,” she half whispered.
“I knew you would. Nothing I can ever do or say will make me anything in this world but a jail-bird unless I hide. So I am going to France for a while. My grandpère is there. By and by I will come back, and you must give me something that I can show you then so that you will know me, for I shall not look like this.”
He glanced disdainfully at the poor clothes he wore and reached out a hand as if to receive an offering.
“What shall I give thee? I have nothing.” A thought of a lock of her hair was in Dorcas’ mind, but she knew it would be missed, cut as cleverly as she might. Then came the doubt, too, whether it were right to thus encourage a culprit!
“Give me,” Henri said, and his voice was melodious, “give me that cap string.”
She shrank back into the shadow. It seemed indelicate to let him touch her nightgarb.
“Would it, would it make thee think of leading a better life, of God and forgiveness and——”
“It would make me think of you, and that is of God. Forgiveness I need not, for I never did the deed. No better life ask I than such one as my grandpère lives.”
He reached for the cap string.
Mechanically Dorcas tore it off and lifted it to his height.