"
"And what is to become of me?" asked Mr. Fletcher, as fretfully as a
sick child; for he knew where her short holiday would be passed, and
his temper got the upper-hand for a minute.
"You should go home and be comfortably nursed: you'll need care for
some time; and your friends will be glad of a chance to give it I've
no doubt."
"I have no home, as you know; and I don't believe I've got a friend
in the world who cares whether I live or die."
"This looks as if you were mistaken;" and Christie glanced about the
little room, which was full of comforts and luxuries accumulated
during his stay.
His face changed instantly, and he answered with the honest look and
tone never given to any one but her.
"I beg your pardon: I'm an ungrateful brute. But you see I'd just
made up my mind to do something worth the doing, and now it is made
impossible in a way that renders it hard to bear. You are very
patient with me, and I owe my life to your care: I never can thank
you for it; but I will take myself out of your way as soon as I can,
and leave you free to enjoy your happy holiday. Heaven knows you
have earned it!"
He said those last words so heartily that all the bitterness went
out of his voice, and Christie found it easy to reply with a cordial
smile:
"I shall stay and see you comfortably off before I go myself.
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