“Oh! I’m crazy to go!” she burst out, covering her face. “Yet I’ve a feeling I’ll hate to leave here.... I’ve been so happy lately.”
“Genie, it relieves me to hear you’re anxious to go. And it pleases me to know you’ve been happy lately. You see I’m only a—a man, you know. How little I could do for you! I’ve tried. I’ve done my best. But at that best I’m only a poor old homeless outcast—a desert wanderer! I’m——”
“Hush up!” she cried, with quick, sweet warmth. Swiftly she enveloped him, hugged him close, and kissed his cheek. “Wanny, you’re grand!... You’re like Taquitch—you’re my Taquitch with face like the sun! And I love you—love you as I never loved anyone except my mother! And I hope Uncle Ed never comes, so you’ll have to take care of me always.”
Adam gently disengaged himself from Genie’s impulsive arms, yet, despite his embarrassment and confused sense of helplessness, he felt the better for her action. Natural, spontaneous, sincere, it warmed his heart. It proved more than all else what a child she was.
“Genie, let me make sure you understand,” he said, gravely. “I love you, too, as if you were my little sister. And if your uncle doesn’t come I’ll take you somewhere—find you a home. But I never—much as I would like to—never can take care of you always.”
“Why?” she flashed, with her terrible directness.
Adam had begun his development of Genie by telling the truth; he had always abided by it; and now, in these awakening days for her, he must never veer from the truth.
“If I tell you why—will you promise never to speak of it—so long as you live?” he asked, solemnly.
“Never! I promise. Never, Wanny!”
“Genie, I am an outcast. I am a hunted man. I can never go back to civilization and stay.”