She put out her hand swiftly, impulsively, to rest upon his sleeve.
"You must not speak like that," she said, her lips quivering. "It—it hurts me. It is as though you—oh, I do not know quite how to say it—as though you admitted to yourself the possibility that I would, or could, have done anything else, when I am so very glad, so very thankful that I could do even this little thing. Oh, Varge, you speak of thanks, and I—what can I say to you?—my life. Doctor Kreelmar told me what you did—how brave you were and—"
"And did he tell you that he had to be kept by force from going for you himself?" Varge interposed, smiling at her and shaking his head. "You see, after all, it was only that I was a little the stronger."
"No," she said slowly. "No; he did not tell me that—dear old Doctor Kreelmar." Then, looking straight at Varge: "But should that make me any the less—the less grateful to you?"
"I have taken unfair advantage of it," he said, evading her question. "I had no right to force to-day upon you. Yes; I should have gone last night, but I"—he hesitated—"I couldn't, I—"
He paused again, and his face went suddenly white, as, their eyes meeting, he seemed to read a quick, startled understanding in hers—then her head bent forward over her lap and only the top of the dark hood showed. His heart was pounding, throbbing wildly—that strange shyness in her voice when first she had spoken, that flood of colour to her face on the beach last night, her eyes but an instant since! Was it but his longing, his utter yearning, that tempted him to wild imaginings?
