"Martin," she said again, a little timidly. Then she came into the
room, a familiar little figure in her brown suit and little brown hat
pulled over her red hair.
"Oh, hello," he answered, "come in if you care to."
"I _am_ in." She laughed nervously, a strange way for her to be
laughing, but the man did not take heed of it. Had she come to laugh at
him for being a fool? he thought.
"Sit down," he invited coolly. She sat on the chair by his bed, her
coat buttoned and unbuttoned by her restless fingers as she stole
glances at the bandaged head of the man.
"It's good of you to come," he began. At that she turned and began to
speak rapidly.
"Martin, I must tell you! You must let me tell you! I know what you
did, how you saved Lyman. I think it was wonderful of you, just
wonderful!"
"Ach." He turned his flushed face toward her then. "There's noticing
wonderful about that."
"I think there is," she insisted, scarcely knowing what to say. She
remembered his old aversion to being lionized.
"Tell me why you did it," she asked suddenly. She had to say something!
The man lay silent for a moment, then a rush of emotion, struggling for
expression, swayed him and he spoke, while his eyes were turned
resolutely from her.
"I'll tell you, Amanda! I've been a fool not to recognize the fact long
ago that I love you."
"Oh!" There was a quick cry from the girl. But the man went on,
impelled by the pain of losing her.
"I see now that I have always loved you, even while I was infatuated by
the other girl. You were still you, right there when I needed you,
ready to give your comfort and help. I must have loved you in the days
we ran barefooted down the hills and looked for flowers or birds. I've
been asleep, blind--call it what you will! Perhaps I could have taught
you to love me if I had read my own heart in time. I took so much for
granted, that you'd always be right there for me--now I've found out
the truth too late. Lyman told me--I hope he'll make you happy. Perhaps
you better go now. I'm tired."
[Illustration: "What did Lyman tell you? I must know"] But the request fell on deaf ears.
"Lyman told you--just what did he tell you?" she asked.
"Oh," the man groaned. "There's a limit to human endurance. I wish
you'd go, dear, and leave me alone for a while."
"What did Lyman tell you?" she asked again. "I must know."
"What's the use of threshing it over? It brings neither of us
happiness. Of course he told me about the engagement, that you are
going to marry him."