"You have stayed on here just to nurse me. Isn't that true?"
She nodded somewhat doubtfully.
"Now then, you must stop thinking about me and—make your arrangements to go home."
Norine eyed the speaker queerly. "Is THAT what you have been trying so long to tell me?" she inquired.
"Yes."
"Is that—all?"
There was a moment of silence. "Yes. You see, I know how tired you are of this misery, this poverty, this hopeless struggle. You're not a Cuban and our cause isn't yours. Expeditions come from the United States every now and then and the Government will see that you are put safely aboard the first ship that returns. I'll manage to get well somehow."
Norine's color had returned. She stood over the hammock, looking down mistily. "Don't you need me, want me any more?" she inquired.
Esteban turned his tired eyes away, fearing to betray in them his utter wretchedness. "You have done all there is to do. I want you to go back into your own world and forget—"
A sudden impulse seized the girl. She stopped and gathered the sick man into her young, strong arms. "Don't be silly," she cried. "My world is your world, Esteban dear. I'll never, never leave you."