"Pardon me," I said, "I did not know you were here," and I was about to depart, with the best attempt at a smile that I could muster. She sprang up and asked, a little indignantly: "Am I infected with a pestilence that you so avoid me, Mr. Morton?" "Oh, no," I replied, with a short, grim laugh; "if it were only a pestilence--I fear I disturbed your nap; but you know I'm a born blunderer." "You said we should be friends," she began hesitatingly. "Do you doubt it?" I asked gravely. "Do you doubt that I would hesitate at any sacrifice--?" "I don't want sacrifices. I wish to see you happy, and your manner natural." "I'm sure I've been cheerful during the past week." "No, you have only seemed cheerful; and often I've seen you look as grim, hard, and stern as if you were on the eve of mortal combat." "You observe closely, Miss Warren." "Why should I not observe closely? Do you think me inhuman? Can I forget what I owe you, and that you nearly died?" "Well," I said dejectedly, "what can I do? It seems that I have played the hypocrite all the week in vain. I will do whatever you ask." "I was in hopes that as you grew well and strong you would throw off this folly. Have you not enough manhood to overcome it?" "No, Miss Warren," I said bluntly, "I have not. What little manhood I had led to this very thing." "Such--such--" "Enthrallment, you may call it." "No, I will not; it's a degrading word. I would not have a slave if I could." "Since I can't help it, I don't see how you can. I may have been a poor actor, but I know I've not been obtrusive." "You have not indeed," she replied a little bitterly; "but you have no cause for such feelings. They seem to me unnatural, and the result of a morbid mind."