I was as a man without a tongue, my hunger gone from sheer happiness—and fright. And yet eating the breakfast with a relish because she had made it. She busied herself about the room, dusting here and tidying there, and anon throwing a glance at me to see if I needed anything. My eyes followed her hither and thither. When I had finished, she undid the napkin, and brushed the crumbs from the coverlet.
“You are not going?” I said, with dismay.
“Did you wish anything more, sir?” she asked.
“Oh, Dorothy,” I cried, “it is you I want, and you will not come near me.”
For an instant she stood irresolute. Then she put down the tray and came over beside me.
“Do you really want me, sir?”
“Dorothy,” I began, “I must first tell you that I have some guess at the sacrifice you are making for my sake, and of the trouble and danger which I bring you.”
Without more ado she put her hand over my mouth.
“No,” she said, reddening, “you shall tell me nothing of the sort.”
I seized her hand, however it struggled, and holding it fast, continued: