"Is THAT what you have been
trying so long to tell me?" she inquired.
"Yes."
"Is that--all?"
There was a moment of silence. "Yes. You see, I know how tired you
are of this misery, this poverty, this hopeless struggle. You're
not a Cuban and our cause isn't yours. Expeditions come from the
United States every now and then and the Government will see that
you are put safely aboard the first ship that returns. I'll manage
to get well somehow."
Norine's color had returned. She stood over the hammock, looking
down mistily. "Don't you need me, want me any more?" she inquired.
Esteban turned his tired eyes away, fearing to betray in them his
utter wretchedness. "You have done all there is to do. I want you
to go back into your own world and forget--"
A sudden impulse seized the girl. She stopped and gathered the
sick man into her young, strong arms. "Don't be silly," she cried.
"My world is your world, Esteban dear. I'll never, never leave
you."
"Miss Evans! NORINE!" Varona tried feebly to free himself. "You
mustn't--"
Norine was laughing through her tears. "If you won't speak, I
suppose I must, but it is very embarrassing. Don't you suppose I
know exactly how much you love me? "Why, you've told me a thousand
times--"
"Please! PLEASE!" he cried in a shaking voice. "This is wrong. I
won't let you--you, a girl with everything--"
"Hush!" She drew him closer.
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