"You are right," he answered. "I believe that it is all Valentine."
"There! Didn't I tell you?" Cuckoo cried with eyes of triumph. "It's been
him from the first. Oh, get him--get Julian away."
The doctor laid his hand upon Cuckoo's, which was stretched upon the
tablecloth, very gently, almost abstractedly.
"Will you tell me something?" he said.
"What's it?"
"You love Julian?"
"Me!" the lady of the feathers said.
Her voice trembled over the word. She stole a hasty, hunted glance at the
doctor. Was he, too, going to jeer at her? Would no one allow her to have
a clean corner in her heart?
"You're laughin' at me. What's the good of such as me doin' a thing like
that--lovin' a man?"
"I think you must love Julian. If you do, perhaps you are meant to
protect and save him."
A secret voice prompted the doctor with the words he spoke, gave them to
him, bent him irresistibly to repeat them. Never before had he felt what
it is to be between the strong hands of destiny.
"Me! Me save any one!" Cuckoo said, trembling.
"Yes, you. There is something in you--I feel it and I can't tell you why,
nor what it is--something that has hold of Julian. He told us so the
other night. Don't you know what it is?"
"Eh?"
"Perhaps he feels that you love him--purely, cleanly.
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