Her tears began to flow afresh until she hated herself for being so weak while there was work to be done to save her father.

She loved Jefferson.

Yes, she had never felt so sure of it as now.

She felt that if she had him there at that moment she would throw herself in his arms crying: "Take me, Jefferson, take me away, where you will, for I love you! I love you!" But Jefferson was not there and the rickety chairs in the tiny bedroom and the cheap prints on the walls seemed to jibe at her in her misery.

If he were there, she thought as she looked into a cracked mirror, he would think her very ugly with her eyes all red from crying.