"What, Diana," said I, staring into her fierce eyes, "do you think
that is necessary with me? Would you harm your friend, child?" The
fierce eyes drooped and, averting her head, she sat mute and still. "I
am going to help you," I continued, "because in spite of any or every
demon, I know you are sweet and pure and good."
"How--d'ye know this?" she questioned.
"I know it, I am sure of it--oh, well--because!"
"That's no answer!" said she in her turn.
"Still, I think you know what I mean. But, and this is very sure,
Diana, because I respect you, I would have the world respect you. And
therefore I am going to help you however I may. So that is settled
once for all."
"Suppose I--runs away?"
"I shall have to find you, of course."
"Then you--don't want to be rid o' me--so much?"
"Certainly not!"
"But you offered me your gold watch to--"
"True!" I admitted, a little put out. "But I--I did not know or
understand you--then."
"And do you now?"
"I think so--or at least enough to know that you can also help me if
you will--"
"How could I help you?" she questioned wistfully.
"You might perhaps teach me to be--less of a coward--more like
yourself--"
"Like me?" she repeated, wondering.
"You are so strong, Diana, so brave and fearless and I--ran away like
the coward I am--left you alone to face--"
Here, once more overcome by memory of my shame, I covered my face; but
now, all at once, perceiving my abasement and bitter remorse, moved by
a sweet impulse she clasped her arm about my stooping shoulders and
sought earnestly to comfort me.
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