For one instant her arms wrapped him round, and she murmured
something in a language he did not understand--the language of the
Roumelian country. It was only one swift instant, and then with shocked
exclamation she broke away from him, dropped into a chair, and buried her
face in her hands.
He blindly reached out his hand towards her as if to touch her.
"Mother-girl, dear mother-girl--that's what you are," he said huskily.
"What a great, kind heart you've got!"
She did not reply, but sat with face hidden in her hands, rocking
backwards and forwards. He understood; he tried to help her. There was a
great joy in his heart, but he dared not give it utterance.
"Please tell me about your life--about that great change in it," he said
at last in a low voice. "Perhaps it would help me. Anyhow, I'd like to
know, if you feel you can tell me."
For a moment she was silent. Then she said to him with an anxious note in
her voice: "What do you know about my life-about the 'great change,' as
you call it?"
He reached out over the coverlet, felt for a sock which he had been
learning to knit and, slowly plying the needles, replied: "I only know
what Jethro Fawe told me, and he was a promiscuous liar."
"I don't think he lied about me," she answered quietly.
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