“He fell and struck his head, the night you left. I thought he would die.” Staniford reported his own diagnosis, not the doctor's; but he was perhaps in the right to do this. “I had made him go down to the wharf with me; I wanted to see you again, before you started, and I thought we might find you on the boat.” He could see her face relenting; her hands released each other. “He was delirious till yesterday. I couldn't leave him.” “Oh, why didn't you write to me?” She ignored Dunham as completely as if he had never lived. “You knew that I--” Her voice died away, and her breast rose. “I did write--” “But how,--I never got it.” “No,--it was not posted, through a cruel blunder. And then I thought--I got to thinking that you didn't care--” “Oh,” said the girl. “Could you doubt me?” “You doubted me,” said Staniford, seizing his advantage. “I brought the letter with me to prove _my_ truth.” She did not look at him, but she took the letter, and ran it greedily into her pocket. “It's well I did so, since you don't believe my word.” “Oh, yes,--yes, I know it,” she said; “I never doubted it!” Staniford stood bemazed, though he knew enough to take the hands she yielded him; but she suddenly caught them away again, and set them against his breast. “I was very wrong to suspect you ever; I'm sorry I did; but there's something else. I don't know how to say what I want to say. But it must be said.” “Is it something disagreeable?” asked Staniford, lightly. “It's right,” answered Lydia, unsmilingly. “Oh, well, don't say it!” he pleaded; “or don't say it now,--not till you've forgiven me for the anxiety I've caused you; not till you've praised me for trying to do what I thought the right thing. You can't imagine how hard it was for one who hasn't the habit!” “I do praise you for it. There's nothing to forgive _you_; but I can't let you care for me unless I know--unless”--She stopped, and then, “Mr. Staniford,” she began firmly, “since I came here, I've been learning things that I didn't know before. They have changed the whole world to me, and it can never be the same again.” “I'm sorry for that; but if they haven't changed you, the world may go.” “No, not if we're to live in it,” answered the girl, with the soberer wisdom women keep at such times. “It will have to be known how we met. What will people say? They will laugh.” “I don't think they will in my presence,” said Staniford, with swelling nostrils. “They may use their pleasure elsewhere.” “And I shouldn't care for their laughing, either,” said Lydia. “But oh, why did you come?” “Why did I come?” “Was it because you felt bound by anything that's happened, and you wouldn't let me bear the laugh alone? I'm not afraid for myself. I shall never blame you. You can go perfectly free.” “But I don't want to go free!” Lydia looked at him with piercing earnestness. “Do you think I'm proud?” she asked. “Yes, I think you are,” said Staniford, vaguely.