one of the letters brought over by the messenger; and though she was midway in a book that engaged his full attention—David Copperfield—his silence and absent look this morning stopped her, and she accused him of not attending.
"No," he admitted; "I am thinking of something else."
She looked at him with that apprehension which he knew.
"It had to come," said he. "And to-day I see my thoughts straighter than I've been up to managing since since my haid got clear. And now I must say these thoughts—if I can, if I can!" He stopped. His eyes were intent upon her; one hand was gripping the arm of his chair.
"You promised—" trembled Molly.
"I promised you should love me," he sternly interrupted. "Promised that to myself. I have broken that word."
She shut David Copperfield mechanically, and grew white.
"Your letter has come to me hyeh," he continued, gentle again.
"My—" She had forgotten it.
"The letter you wrote to tell me good-by. You wrote it a little while ago—not a month yet, but it's away and away long gone for me."
"I have never let you know—" began Molly.
"The doctor," he interrupted once more, but very gently now, "he gave awdehs I must be kept quiet. I reckon yu' thought tellin' me might—"
"Forgive me!" cried the girl. "Indeed I ought to have told you sooner! Indeed I had no excuse!"
