though I will tell you now—something—this much—it is a sad secret. God help me! I am as guilty as poor Dixon, if, indeed, he is guilty—but he is innocent—indeed he is!”
“If he is no more guilty than you, I am sure he is! Let me be more than your friend, Ellinor—let me know all, and help you all that I can, with the right of an affianced husband.”
“No, no!” said she, frightened both at what she had revealed, and his eager, warm, imploring manner. “That can never be. You do not know the disgrace that may be hanging over me.”
“If that is all,” said he, “I take my risk—if that is all—if you only fear that I may shrink from sharing any peril you may be exposed to.”
“It is not peril—it is shame and obloquy” she murmured.
“Well! shame and obloquy. Perhaps, if I knew all I could shield you from it.”
“Don’t, pray, speak any more about it now; if you do, I must say ‘No.’”
She did not perceive the implied encouragement in these words; but he did, and they sufficed to make him patient. The time was up, and he could only render her his last services as “courier,” and none other but the necessary words at starting passed between them. But he went away from the station
