ck
if you choose--but it would make me so unhappy if you promised."

"Would it, child? And yet, my friends are waiting for me, and they have
money for me, too. Then, I will only say that I will give it back to you
as soon as possible. Is that right?"

"Yes--and nothing more than that. And as for thanking me--what have I done
that needs thanks? Would you not have done as much for me if--if, for
instance, I had been ill, and could not pay the rent of the room? And
then--think of the happiness I have had!"

The words were spoken so simply and it was so clear that they were true,
that the Count found it hard to answer. Not because he had nothing to
express, but because the words for the expression could not be found.
Again he pressed her arm.

"Vjera," he said, when they had walked some distance farther, "it is of no
use to speak of this. There is that between you and me which makes speech
contemptible and words ridiculous. There is only one thing that I can do,
Vjera dearest. I can love you, dear, with all my heart. Will you take my
love for thanks--and my devotion for gratitude? Will you, dear? Will you
remember what you promised and what I promised last night? As soon as all
is right, to-morrow, will you be my wife?"

"If it could ever be!" sighed the poor girl, recalled suddenly to the
remembrance of his pitiful infirmity.

"It can be, it shall be and it will be," he answered in tones of
conviction. "They are waiting for me now, Vjera, in my little room--but
they may wait, for I will not lose a moment of your dear company for them
all. They are waiting for me with the money and the papers and the orders.
I have waited long for them, they can afford to have a little patience
now. And to-morrow, at this time, we shall be together, Vjera, in the
train--I will have a special carriage for you and me, and then, a night
and a day and another night and we shall be at home--for ever. How happy
we shall be! Will you not be happy with me, darling? Why do you sigh?"

"Did I sigh?" asked Vjera, trying to laugh a little.

He hardly noticed the question, but began to talk again, as he had talked
on the previous evening, describing all that he meant to do, and all that
they would do together. Vjera heard and tried not to listen. Her joy was
all gone. The great, overwhelming pleasure she had felt in dispelling his
anxiety and in averting what had seemed a near and terrible catastrophe,
gave place to the old, heartrending pity fo