"
"Well, Martin, have you nothing to tell me?"
Now that he had come back, advice was not what she asked for, but news.
"We always have much to talk of--always--you and I."
"But to-night, Martin, especially to-night. Ah! you have forgotten."
"Very likely," he answered. "I do forget a great many things. But come
to my room in the tower; I may remember when I get there."
"No, Martin, not to-night," she said.
"I may remember," he repeated; "and, besides, why should you be less
kind to me? I always look forward to my own room and you."
There was a tone of sadness in his voice, and she was angry with herself
for occasioning it. Because she was sad, was that a reason why she
should make this poor fellow miserable? Would he not do anything to
serve her which fell within the power of the poor wits God had given
him?
"I will come," she said.
"You must wrap a thick cloak about you," said Martin. "It is raining
heavily."
She left him for a moment and quickly returned, closely wrapped up.
"Tread lightly," said Martin. "I always like to think that these
evenings when you come to my tower are secret meetings, that the world
must not know of them.
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