"
"He came right to the house just after dark," returned Harriet.
"Mother let him come in; she wanted to talk to him."
"Did he come to get you to go away with him, Harriet?"
"Yes, Mr. Westerfelt."
"And why didn't you go?"
"Oh, how _can_ you ask such a question," she asked, "when you _know_--"
She broke off suddenly, and then, seeing that he was silent, she added:
"Mr. Westerfelt, sometimes I am afraid, really afraid, your sickness
has affected your mind, you speak so strange and harsh to me. Surely I
do not deserve such cruelty. I am just a woman, and a weak one at
that; a woman driven nearly crazy through troubling about you." She
raised a corner of her shawl to her eyes.
He saw her shoulders rise with a sob, then he caught her hands.
"Don't--don't cry, little girl. I'd give my life to help you. Oh yes,
_do_ let me hold your hands, just this once; it won't make any
difference."
She did not attempt to withdraw her hands from his passionate, reckless
clasp, and, now more trustingly, raised her eyes to his.
"Sometimes I think you really love me," she faltered.
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