I want to help you.
I want to help your family.
I know where you live.
I saw the place to-day.
How many are there of you?"
"Six," she answered faintly.
"The families of the poor," he thought.
"Well, you take this from me," he insisted, drawing a purse from his coat.
"And I'll see you very soon again.
There's no escape, sweet."
"No, no," she protested.
"I won't.
I don't need it.
No, you mustn't ask me."
He insisted further, but she was firm, and finally he put the money away.
"One thing is sure, Jennie, you're not going to escape me," he said soberly.
"You'll have to come to me eventually.
Don't you know you will? Your own attitude shows that.
I'm not going to leave you alone."
"Oh, if you knew the trouble you're causing me."
"I'm not causing you any real trouble, am I?" he asked.
"Surely not."
"Yes.
I can never do what you want."
"You will!
You will!" he exclaimed eagerly, the bare thought of this prize escaping him heightening his passion.
"You'll come to me."
And he drew her close in spite of all her protests.
"There," he said when, after the struggle, that mystic something between them spoke again, and she relaxed.
Tears were in her eyes, but he did not see them.
"Don't you see how it is?
You like me too."
"I can't," she repeated, with a sob.
Her evident distress touched him.
"You're not crying, little girl, are you?" he asked.
She made no answer.
"I'm sorry," he went on.
"I'll not say anything more to-night.
We're almost at your home.
I'm leaving to-morrow, but I'll see you again.
Yes, I will, sweet.
I can't give you up now.
I'll do anything in reason to make it easy for you, but I can't, do you hear?"
She shook her head.
"Here's where you get out," he said, as the carriage drew up near the corner.
He could see the evening lamp gleaming behind the Gerhardt cottage curtains.
"Good-by," he said as she stepped out.
"Good-by," she murmured.
"Remember," he said, "this is just the beginning."
"Oh no, no!" she pleaded.