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"She won't hurt you-never harms anybody;" says Mr. Fitzgerald, methodically, observing Brother Spyke's timidity. "No, no, no," she mutters incoherently, "you are not of this place-you know, like the rich world up-town, little of these revelling devils. Cling! yes, cling to the wise one-tell him to keep you from this, and forever be your teacher. Tell him! tell him! oh! tell him!"
"Well, you were mistaken," he said at last, gently enough. "I don't know why you should think so, but I never thought of marrying you-never thought of it." The flush faded from her face, and she stopped swaying. She lifted her eyes to his in a tearful, appealing stare. "I t'ought so-you made me t'ink so." "I did? How? I never said a word to you about-liking you or-marrying-or anything like that.
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