"Go with me?" Ralph slowly raised himself from his sofa.
"Yes, I know you don't like me, but I will go with you all the same. It would be better for your health to lie down again."
Ralph looked at her a little; then he slowly resumed his former posture.
"I like you very much," he said in a moment.
Miss Stackpole gave one of her infrequent laughs.
"You needn't think that by saying that you can buy me off. I will go with you, and what is more I will take care of you."
"You are a very good woman," said Ralph.
"Wait till I get you safely home before you say that. It won't be easy. But you had better go, all the same."
Before she left him, Ralph said to her—
"Do you really mean to take care of me?"
"Well, I mean to try."
"I notify you, then, that I submit. Oh, I submit!" And it was perhaps a sign of submission that a few minutes after she had left him alone be burst into a loud fit of laughter. It seemed to him so inconsequent, such a conclusive proof of his having abdicated all functions and renounced all exercise, that he should start on a journey across Europe under the supervision of Miss Stackpole. And the great oddity was that the prospect pleased him; he was gratefully, luxuriously passive. He felt even impatient to start; and indeed he had an immense longing to see his own house again. The end of everything was at hand; it seemed to him that he could stretch out his arm and touch the goal. But he wished to die at home; it was the only wish he had left—to extend himself in the large quiet room where he had last seen his father lie, and close his eyes upon the summer dawn.
