"At least," she said, quickly and eagerly, "I can't forget that you
saved my life, and I thank you from my heart if I don't know just how
to do it in words."
He returned the pressure of her fingers, longing to cover them with
kisses.
"I'm afraid," responded he, "that I've very little claim to glory on
account of anything I did for you. I certainly don't deserve the credit
of having saved you. I only wish I did."
She laughed gayly, springing up from her seat, and he realized that his
voice had lost all trace of unfriendliness. He told himself recklessly
that he did not care; that if he were a thousand times a priest he
could not but be kindly to Berenice.
"Come," she laughed, "we have been through a real adventure; and that's
more than happens to most people if they live to be a hundred."
Suddenly she became grave. "I can't bear to think of it, though," she
added. Then she turned toward him, and spoke with seriousness. "At
least, Mr. Wynne, I am not so flighty that I do not thank God for my
escape yesterday."
"Amen," he responded.
She walked over to the window, and stood looking out at the sunny day.
Pages:
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208