"Eighth floor," he commanded.
The door of the apartment was not latched. Stephen, in his rage and
hurry, had neglected such trifles. The captain opened it quietly and
walked in. He entered the library. Caroline was lying on the couch,
her head buried in the pillows. She did not hear him cross the room. He
leaned over and touched her shoulder. She started, looked, and sat up,
gazing at him as though not certain whether he was a dream or reality.
And he looked at her, at her pretty face, now so white and careworn, at
her eyes, at the tear-stains on her cheeks, and his whole heart went out
to her.
"Caroline, dearie," he faltered, "forgive me for comin' here, won't you?
I had to come. I couldn't leave you alone; I couldn't rest, thinkin' of
you alone in your trouble. I know you must feel harder than ever towards
me for this afternoon's doin's, but I meant it for the best. I HAD to
show you--don't you see? Can you forgive me? Won't you try to forgive
the old feller that loves you more'n all the world? Won't you try?"
She looked at him, wide-eyed, clasping and unclasping her hands.
"_I_ forgive YOU?" she repeated, incredulously.
"Yes. Try to, dearie. Oh, if you would only believe I meant it for your
good, and nothin' else! If you could only just trust me and come to me
and let me help you.
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