Part 46 (2/2)

It was far enough from my thoughts to do such a thing, but as I stood dumbly looking at him, it flashed upon me that here, after all, was the man who had always loved me, always helped me, always respected me. I almost loved him in return. Why not try to reward his devotion, and throw my distracted self upon his protection?

”I would not have you tell a lie for me, John,” said I uncertainly, holding out my hands and smiling softly into his eyes.

”I don't understand--” he stood irresolute, yet moved, I could see, by my beauty. ”Do you mean--” and he slowly approached, peering from under his contracted brows as if trying to read my eyes.

”I mean that I have treated you very badly; and that I am sorry,” I whispered, hiding my head with a little sigh upon his shoulder; and after a time he put his arms about me gently as if half afraid, and was silent.

I felt how good he was, how strong and patient, and was at peace. I knew I could trust him.

So we stood for a little while at the dividing line between the future and the past. I do not know what were his thoughts, but I had not been so much at rest for a long, long time-not since I came from home to New York.

Then with a sigh of quiet content, he said in a low and gentle voice:--

”It's a strange thing to hurry away now, Nelly; but you know I have so much to do before I can rest tonight. I must speak of this: Now--now that we are to belong to each other always--I must know exactly about all your affairs, so that I can arrange them. There are other debts?”

The word grated upon my nerves, I had been so glad to forget.

”Yes, I'm afraid I owe a lot of money, but must we--just to-night?” I asked.

”I'm afraid it's safest. It is not alone that you will be able to forget the matter sooner if you confide in me now, but how can we know that these proceedings will not be repeated if I don't attend promptly to everything?

Some one else may bring suit tomorrow, and another the next day, giving you no peace. I'm sorry, but it is the best way. Tell me everything now, and I will arrange with them all, and need never mention the subject again. Then you can be at peace.”

”Well, if I must--”

It seemed impossible to go on. Even the thought of how good he was and how he had taken up my burden when it was too heavy for my own strength made it harder to face the horrible business.

”--I owe ten dollars to Kitty Reid, and about twenty-five to Cadge,” I admitted. ”I didn't mean to borrow of them, but I had to do it, just lately--”

”Poor child!” said John, stroking my hand with his big, warm paw, as he would a baby's. ”Poor child!”

”I've bills somewhere for everything else--”

It was like digging among the ruins of my past greatness to pull out the crumpled papers from my writing desk, reminding me of the gay scenes that for me were no more; but John quietly took them from me, and began smoothing them and laying them in methodical piles and making notes of amounts and names.

”I've refused all these to Uncle Timothy; he's been worrying me with questions--” I said desperately.

”Three florists, two confectioners,” he enumerated, as if he had not heard me.

”--Women eat sweets by the ton, but lately there have been few of 'em in this house. Then here are the accounts for newspaper clippings, you know; Shanks and Romeike; but they're trifles.”

”You must have been a good customer,” John said, glancing about the dishevelled flat--I hadn't had the heart to rearrange it since Mrs.

Whitney left. ”From the look of the place, I believe you would have bought a mummy or a heathen G.o.d, if anybody had suggested it to you.”

”I have a little heathen G.o.d--Gautama; alabaster--and a mummied cat.”

”And you're very fond of that? But no matter. Shoemaker and milliner and furniture man; that makes eleven.”

<script>