Then briefly Guy explained to her how it all had happened, blaming
himself far more than he did the doctor, who, he said, had repented
bitterly. "Had you died, Miss Clyde, when you were so sick, I half
believe he would have felt it his duty to die also. He likes you very
much; more indeed than any patient I ever knew him to have," and Guy's
eyes glanced curiously at Maddy to witness the effect his words might
have upon her. But Maddy merely answered: "Yes, I think he does like me, and I know I like him."
Mentally chastising himself for trying to find in Maddy's head an idea
which evidently never was there, he began to speak of her proposition
of leave, saying he should not suffer it, Jessie needed her and she
must stay. She was not to mind the disagreeable things Mrs. Remington
had said. She was tired and nervous, and so gave way to some very
preposterous notions, which she had picked up somewhere. She would
treat Maddy better hereafter, and she must stay. It was pleasanter for
Jessie to have a companion so near her own age. Then, as he saw signs
of yielding in Maddy's face, he continued: "How would you like to turn scholar for a short time each day, I being
your teacher? Time often hangs heavily upon my hands, and I fancy the
novelty of the thing would suit me. I have books. I will appoint your
lessons and the hour for recitation."
Guy's face was scarlet by the time he finished speaking, for suddenly
he remembered to have heard or read of a similar instance which
resulted in the marriage of the teacher and pupil; besides that it
would subject him to so much remark, when it was known that he, the
fashionable and fastidious Guy, was teaching a pretty, attractive girl
like Maddy Clyde, and he sincerely hoped she would decline. But Maddy
had no such intention. Always in earnest herself, she supposed every
one else meant what they said, and without ever suspecting the
peculiar position in which such a proceeding would place both herself
and Guy, her heart leaped up at the idea of knowing what was in the
books she had never dared hope she might study. With her beautiful
eyes full of tears, which shone like diamonds, as she lifted them to
Guy's face, she said: "Oh, I thank you so much. You could not make me happier, and I'll try
so hard to learn. They don't teach such things at the district school;
and when there was a high school in Honedale I could not go, for it
was three dollars a quarter, and grandpa had no three dollars for me.
Uncle Joseph needed help, and so I stayed at home. It's dreadful to be
poor, but, perhaps, I shall some time be competent to teach in a
seminary, and won't that be grand? When may I begin?"