me, she! I know it. I knew it then. But it was more than I would bear. As a brother! I had heard that tale before. Back I stepped again, all the man in me rebelling.
“That’s impossible,” said I rudely.
“It isn’t. It’s true. I do love you - for this!”
God knows how I looked!
“And I mayn’t say good-by to you,” she whispered. “And - and I love you - for that!”
“Then you had better choose between us,” said I.
CHAPTER XX
THE STATEMENT OF FRANCIS RATTRAY
In the year 1858 I received a bulky packet
before drawing down the blind, leaving the room on tip-toe, and very gently fastening the door behind me. On the stairs, too, I trod with the utmost caution, feeling the wall with my left hand (my right was full), lest by any chance I might be mistaken in supposing I had the cottage to myself. In spite