"Poor little Nick hasn't been very well lately, and I--can't leave
him alone--" she began.
"Then bring him with you."
"And," she continued slowly, "when I wrote you that letter I
was--greatly afraid, but I'm--not afraid any longer. And oh, I
couldn't leave London yet--I couldn't!"
Now while she spoke, Barnabas saw her clasp and wring her hands
together, that eloquent gesture he remembered so well. Therefore he
leaned across the table and touched those slender fingers very gently.
"Why not? Tell me your trouble, my sister."
Now Clemency bowed her dark head, and when she spoke her voice was
low and troubled: "Because--he is ill--dangerously ill, Milo tells me,
and I--I am nearer to him here in London. I can go, sometimes, and
look at the house where he lies. So you see, I cannot leave him, yet."
"Then--you love him, Clemency?"
"Yes," she whispered, "yes, oh yes, always--always! That was why I
ran away from him. Oh, I love him so much that I grew afraid of my
love, and of myself, and of him. Because he is a great gentleman,
and I am only--what I am."
"A very good and beautiful woman!" said Barnabas.
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