I'm just yours--for as long as I live. Please,
sir--please, sir--don't send me away! I--I'd rather die than that."
He laid his head suddenly down upon the hand he held so tenaciously and
began to sob, fighting desperately to stifle all sound.
Saltash sat for a few moments in utter silence and immobility. Then,
abruptly, in a tense whisper, he spoke:
"Toby, you little fool, stop it--stop it, do you hear?--and go below!"
The words held a queer urgency. He raised himself as he uttered them,
seeking to free his hand though with all gentleness from the clinging
clasp.
"Get up, boy!" he said. "Get up and go to bed! What? Oh, don't cry! Pull
yourself together! Toby, do you hear?"
Toby lifted a white, strained face. His eyes looked enormous in the dim
light. "Yes, sir. All right, sir," he jerked out, and stumbled trembling
to his feet. "I know I'm a fool, sir. I'm sorry. I can't help it. No one
was ever decent to me--till you came. I--shall just go under now, sir."
"Oh, stop it!" Saltash spoke almost violently. "Can't you see--that's
just what I want to prevent? You don't want to go to the devil, I
suppose?"
Toby made a passionate gesture that was curiously unboylike. "I'd go to
hell and stay there for ever--if you were there!" he said.
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