love you, Joan, that's why! Have you found that out for
yourself? I began to love you the first night I saw you, and I've been
progressing rapidly ever since. We have not known each other for long,
as time goes, but so much has happened, and we have been thrown so much
together, that we know each other as well as many acquaintances of
years' standing. My mind is made up, at any rate; there is no other
girl in the world for me! Do you think if you tried very hard, and I
waited very patiently, you could possibly bring yourself to love me in
return?"

Esmeralda gazed at him with her wonderful grey eyes, not shyly, not
self-consciously, but with slow, solemn deliberation.

"I don't know," she said simply. "I can't tell. I like you very much;
you have been very kind to us, and it does me good to talk to you, but
that isn't enough, is it? I don't know if I love you, but I love you to
love me! It comforts my heart, and makes me feel braver and less
lonely. Sometimes this last week--just once or twice when we have been
alone--I have thought perhaps you did, and I hoped I was right. I hoped
I was not mistaken."

"You darling! Oh, you darling!" cried Hilliard rapturously. "You do
make me happy by telling me that. That's all I want--the very best
proof you could give me that you care for me too. Don't you see, my
beauty, that you must care, or you would not want my love? Don't you
see that you have been drawn to me, just as I have been drawn to you,
and have felt the need of me, just as I have longed and wearied for you
ever since we met?"

He tried to take hold of her hand as he spoke, but Esmeralda drew back,
refusing to be caressed. She was trembling now, and her cheeks were
flushed with the loveliest rosy blush, but there was an almost piteous
appeal in her voice.

"No, no! I don't see, and I don't want to see. My father is dying--he
has only a little time to live, and I don't want to think of anything
but him. If it is as you say, there will be all my life after that, but
I can't think of love-making and being happy just the very last weeks we
shall have him with us. You mustn't be vexed; you mustn't think me
ungrateful. Indeed, indeed I can't help it!"

"Vexed!" echoed Hilliard. "Ungrateful!" His glance was eloquent enough
to show how far such words were from expressing his real feelings; and
indeed, if it had been possible to love Esmeralda more dearly than he
did, he would have done so at th