"If you think so, indeed, Madelon," he said, "will you not let
it be so always? Do you think you can trust me enough to let
me always take care of you? I can ask for nothing dearer in
life."
"What do you mean?" she cried, glancing up at him startled.
"Do you not understand?" he said, looking at her, and taking
one her little hands in his--"do you not understand that one
may have a secret hidden away for years, and never suspected
even by oneself, perhaps, till all at once one discovers it? I
think I must have had some such secret, Madelon, and that I
never guessed at it till a few months since, when I found a
little girl that I knew years ago, grown up into somebody that
I love better than all the world----"
"Ah! stop!" she cried, jumping up, and pulling her hand away.
"You are good and kind, but it is not possible that you--ah!
Monsieur Horace, I am not worthy!"
"Not worthy! Good heavens, Madelon, you not worthy!" He paused
for a moment. "What is not possible?" he went on. "Perhaps I
am asking too much. I am but a battered old fellow in these
days, I know, and if, indeed, you cannot care enough for me----"
He held out his hand again with a very kind smile.
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