He did not approach her. He had no right. His confession stood like a wall between them until she should speak. Her face was burning now. He could see her flushed cheeks and tinted temples. That she still refrained from meeting his eyes kindled a faint flame of hope.
"This is a strange story for a girl to hear," she said, speaking each word low, but distinctly. "I forgive you for the deception about the money. Uncle Arthur has returned wealthy, and we can refund that to you soon. But--" she raised her head and looked at him--"can I forgive the rest?"
"Can you forgive it?" he repeated, pillowing his elbow on his palm, and resting his chin on his finger and thumb. "Can you forgive it? Your heart must answer. If you love me--if you love me--"
She could not endure the appeal in his eyes, and her own dropped, with a sigh.
Silence unbroken. He waited for a while longer, then moved slowly towards the door. She heard his footsteps pass and recede, and it seemed that the hope of her life was going too. He reached the door leading into the hall.
The low call was weighted with despair and love.
In a moment he was standing before her, with both her hands in his.
"You called me!" he whispered, reading the message in her swimming eyes. "You called me!"
"Back to happiness, John, if I can give it to you! You have borne so much, poor boy!"
End of Project Gutenberg's The Man from Jericho, by Edwin Carlile Litsey