He smiled faintly, but his wistful face appeared
worse for it. It hurt the Angel to the heart.
"Dear Freckles," she said, "there is a story in your eyes this morning,
tell me?"
Freckles drew a long, wavering breath.
"Angel," he begged, "be generous! Be thinking of me a little. I'm so
homesick and worn out, dear Angel, be giving me back me promise. Let me
go?"
"Why Freckles!" faltered the Angel. "You don't know what you are asking.
'Let you go!' I cannot! I love you better than anyone, Freckles. I
think you are the very finest person I ever knew. I have our lives all
planned. I want you to be educated and learn all there is to know about
singing, just as soon as you are well enough. By the time you have
completed your education I will have finished college, and then I want,"
she choked a second, "I want you to be my real knight, Freckles, and
come to me and tell me that you--like me--a little. I have been counting
on you for my sweetheart from the very first, Freckles. I can't give you
up, unless you don't like me. But you do like me--just a little--don't
you, Freckles?"
Freckles lay whiter than the coverlet, his staring eyes on the ceiling
and his breath wheezing between dry lips.
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