He was very weak and unstrung, and while a tremulous smile hovered about his mouth, his eyes so moistened that he turned toward the wall. After a moment he said, "Miss Walton, I am not worthy of your kindness." "Nor are you unworthy. But kindness is not a matter of business--so much for so much." "Why do you waste your time on me?" "That is a childish question. What a monster I should be if I heedlessly left you to suffer! The farmers' wives around would mob me." "I am very grateful for the relief you are giving me, even though mere humanity is the motive." "Mere humanity is not my motive. You are our guest, the son of my father's dearest friend, and for your own sake I am deeply interested in you." "Miss Walton, I know in the depths of your soul you are disgusted with me. You seek to apply those words to my spirit as you do cologne to my head." "I beg your pardon. It is not the cologne only that relieves your headache." "I know that well. It is your touch, which seems magical." "Well then, you should know from my touch that I am not sitting here telling fibs. If I should bathe your head with a wooden hand, wouldn't you know it?" "What an odd simile! I cannot understand you." "It is not necessary that you should, but do not wrong me by doubting me again." "I have done nothing but wrong you, Miss Walton." "I'm not conscious of it, so you needn't worry, and I assure you I find it a pleasure to do you good." "Miss Walton, you are the essence of goodness." "Oh, no, no; why say of a creature what is only true of God? Mr. Gregory, you are very extravagant in your language." A scowl darkened his face, and he said, moodily, "God seems to me the essence of cruelty." "'Seems, seems!' An hour since I seemed a torment, and you were driving me away." "Yes, but you soon proved yourself a kind, helpful, pitiful friend. I once thought my cheek would flame with anger even if I were dying, should I be regarded as an object of pity. But you, better than any one, know that I am one." "I, better than any one, know that you are not, in the sense you mean." "Come, Miss Walton, you cannot be sincere now. Do you think I can ever forget the miserable scene of Monday evening, when you placed yourself beside the martyrs and I sank down among the cowards of any age? I reached the bottom of the only perdition I believe in. I have lost my self-respect." "Which I trust God will help you regain by showing you the only sure and safe ground on which self-respect can be maintained. Much that is called self-respect is nothing but pride. But, Mr. Gregory, injustice to one's self is as wrong as injustice to another. Answer me honestly this question. Did you act that evening only from fear--because you have it not in you to face danger? or did you promise secrecy because you felt the man's crime was none of your business, and supposed I would take the same view?"