"It is your cousin's mind impressed on yours that
tells you that we must part,--that and your unfathomable spirit,--the
spirit that carried you in man's dress through those weeks as a
captive. It is that same spirit that will bring you back to me some
day."
"Monsieur!"
"That will bring you back."
"Monsieur, no. I cannot change myself."
"Would I have you change? Mary, Mary! I took you as a boy with me to
the wilderness because you had an unbreakable will and a fanatic's
courage. Yet this is not the end. It is not the end."
She did not answer, and again she laid her head on the table. We had
but a few minutes left now. I saw her look up at me twice before I
heard her whisper, "Monsieur, you said that I loved you. But you never
said that you"----
"Would it change your decision if I said it now?"
"No, no! It could not."
I slipped to my knees and laid my lips on her clasped hands. "You are
part of me. You go with me whether you will or no. You are in the red
sunsets that we saw together, and in the white dawns when we ate our
meal and meat side by side. You are fettered to me. I cannot rid
myself of your presence for a moment. I shall tell you more of this
when you come to me again.
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