Harry, that must not be. The shame is mine now; you and yours have
borne enough. I cannot drag you into it again. I cannot have your
precious love for me made a source of danger and dishonour to you. No,
no; I love you too well for that--much too well for that, dear.'
She spoke in little more than a whisper, but there was the intensity of
deep feeling in every word.
He drew her to her feet and into his arms again with tender reverence,
and softly kissed her tired eyelids. She was only a girl, and the strife
of the last two days had told upon her strength. It was sweet to rest so,
knowing and feeling his strength, confident of his devotion.
'But I love you--I love you, Chris,' he said.
'Yes, you love me and I love you.' Her hand stole to his neck. 'Ah, how
happy we might have been!
'Might have been? We must be happy--we must!' he said vehemently. 'I love
you, an' your sorrow is mine, your trouble is mine. I won't let anything
interfere. I must help you!
'No, Harry, I will not take your help. You do not stand alone. Before I
would have you do that I would tell the truth myself. My father is ill;
he may never get away. I think he will not. What would be left to me if
he were taken after all, and you were known to have assisted him in his
endeavours to elude the police? I could not bear it. No, no, dear, you
must leave us alone to that.
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