She made a movement to leave the room, and did not go. She lingered, looking to see what was the matter with him. He was in a deplorable condition as to his clothing, his hair was singed, his hands and face blistering in places; but that did not seem to be the trouble. Neither was he angry. The deep thoughtfulness of his expression forbade that supposition.
She chose to say, though, “I hope you are not offended about anything.”
He seemed surprised, and recollected himself. “Why, no!” he answered. “Have I been cross? Excuse me! I was thinking of something.” He looked at her earnestly. “There is something I would like to know—not because I am curious, or want to interfere in any person’s private affairs, but because I think it might settle my mind to know. I’ll tell you what it is, and I hope you’ll believe that I don’t mean any offence, though it may sound impudent. You must know, Miss Clara”—his eyes dropped humbly—“that I took a liking to you at first. Of course I wasn’t such a fool as to expect anything from you; but what you said back there in the woods to-night showed me that I am a greater fool than I thought I could be. Do you want me to stop now?”
“No,” Clara answered gently. “I would like to hear what you have been thinking of, and to say anything I can to quiet your mind.”
“Well,” he went on, “I should feel better to know if you have any man in your eye that you like. It’s none of my business,” he added hastily, “but it might do me good to know the truth.”
Clara blushed to the forehead, but her laughing glance was raised to his face.
“Yes, Captain Cary,” she said, “I have a man in both my eyes whom I like and esteem.”
He was silent a moment. Perhaps his sunburnt face grew a shade paler.
“That’s all I want to know,” he said then. “I thank you for telling me; and I wish you every happiness that earth and heaven can give.”