“Well, but that is over now. I am going to stay here and help daddy.” Again the new fear tugged at her heart. “You are going to stay, too, aren't you, Mr. Breen?” she added in quick alarm. “You won't leave him, will you?--not if--” again the terrible money loss rose before her. What if there should not be money enough to pay Jack?
“But suppose he was not able to--” she could not frame the rest of the sentence.
“You can't suppose anything that would make me leave him, or the work.” This also came with an emphasis of positive certainty. “I have never been so happy as I have been here. I never knew what it was to be myself. I never knew,” he added in softened tones, “what it was to really live until I joined your father. Only last night Uncle Peter and I were talking about it. 'Stick to Mac,' the dear old fellow said.” It was to Ruth, but he dared not express himself, except in parables. “Then you HAD thought of going?” she asked quickly, a shadow falling across her face.
“No--” he hesitated--“I had only thought of STAYING. It was you who were going--I was all broken up about being left here alone, and Uncle Peter wanted to know why I did not beg you to stay, and I--”
“Well, I am going to stay,” she answered simply. She did not dare to trust herself further.
“Yes!--and now I don't care what happens!” he exclaimed with a thrill in his voice. “If you will only trust me, Miss Ruth, and let me come in with you and your father. Let me help! Don't let there be only two--let us be three! Don't you see what a difference it would make? I will work and save every penny I can for him and take every bit of the care from his shoulders; but can't you understand how much easier it would be if you would only let me help you too? I could hardly keep the tears back a moment ago when I saw you sink down here. I can't see you unhappy like this and not try to comfort you.”
“You do help me,” she murmured softly. Her eyes had now dropped to the cushion at her side.
“Yes, but not--Oh, Ruth, don't you see how I love you! What difference does this accident make--what difference does anything make if we have each other?” He had his hand on hers now, and was bending over, his eyes eager for some answer in her own. “I have suffered so,” he went on, “and I am so tired and so lonely without you. When you wouldn't understand me that time when I came to you after the tunnel blew up, I went about like one in a dream--and then I determined to forget it all, and you, and everything--but I couldn't, and I can't now. Maybe you won't listen--but please--”