"When?" asks Madelon.
"Ah, that I cannot tell you, but before very long I hope, and
meantime you must make haste and grow tall--let me see how tall
shall I expect you to be? as tall as that----" touching one of
the bars above her head.
She tried to smile as she answered, "It would take me a long
time to grow as tall as that."
"Not if you make haste and try very hard," he said; "and by
that time you will have learnt such a number of things, music,
and geography, and sewing, and--what is it little girls learn?"
So he went on talking; but she scarcely answered him, only
held his hands tighter and tighter, as if she was afraid he
would escape from her. Something seemed to have gone from her
in these last few days, something of energy, and spirit, and
hopefulness; Horace had never seen her so utterly forlorn and
downcast before, not even on the night of her father's death.
At last he looked at his watch. "I must go, Madelon," he said,
"I have to catch the train."
"No, no, don't go!" she cried, suddenly starting from her
desponding attitude, "don't go and leave me, I cannot stay
here--I cannot--don't go!"
She was holding him so tightly that he could not move, her
eyes fixed on his face with an intensity of pleading.
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