As for himself, he was sick at heart
over the discovery he had made. Not for all the world would he have
added to their unhappiness by voicing the thoughts that were uppermost
in his mind, rioting there with an insistent clamor that almost
deafened him.
Christine's father was a thief!
From time to time, as they walked down the dark, still street, he
glanced at her face, half fearing that his thoughts might have reached
her by means of some mysterious telepathic agency. Even in the shadows
her face was adorable. He could not see her dark eyes, but he knew
they were troubled and afraid. He would have given worlds to have
taken her in his arms, then and there, to pour into her little sore
heart all the comfort of his new-found adoration.
For days it had been growing upon him, this delicious realization of
what she had come to stand for in his life. She had crept into his
heart and he was glad. Innate gallantry and a sense of the fitness of
things had kept him from uttering one word of love to this young,
trusting, unconscious girl. He was very young--stupidly young, he
felt--but he was old enough to know that she would not understand.
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