had already ground for hope, that she had asked me to help her in the
first throe of her trouble; but love makes its own doubtings, and I
feared. My thoughts seemed to whirl with lightning rapidity, and in a
few seconds a whole process of reasoning became formulated. I must not
volunteer to be the friend that the father advised his daughter to have
to aid her in her vigil; and yet that one glance had a lesson which I
must not ignore. Also, did not she, when she wanted help, send to me--to
me a stranger, except for one meeting at a dance and one brief afternoon
of companionship on the river? Would it not humiliate her to make her
ask me twice? Humiliate her! No! that pain I could at all events save
her; it is not humiliation to refuse. So, as I handed her back the
letter, I said:

"I know you will forgive me, Miss Trelawny, if I presume too much; but
if you will permit me to aid in the watching I shall be proud. Though
the occasion is a sad one, I shall be so far happy to be allowed the
privilege."

Despite her manifest and painful effort at self-control, the red tide
swept her face and neck. Even her eyes seemed suffused, and in stern
contrast with her pale cheeks when the tide had rolled back. She
answered in a low voice:

"I shall be very grateful for your help!" Then in an afterthought she
added:

"But you must not let me be selfish in my need! I know you have many
duties to engage you; and though I shall value your help highly--most
highly--it would not be fair to monopolise your time."