"You are my wife," I said. "We shall never part. We shall live
together till we are very old." The marvel of my own words awed me.
But she begged me to hear her out. "I must speak of the past," she
went on. "It leads to what I would have you say to the commandant.
Will you listen?"
"I will try."
"Then--then let me speak of the day we parted. I saw that I had to
leave you. I knew--I thought I knew--that country was more sacred than
individual happiness. But I was weaker than I thought. When I saw
Michillimackinac fade, when I knew that I should never see you again,
my life seemed to stop. I begged my cousin to take me back. I--I
begged till I fainted."
I could not keep my hands from clenching. "And he refused you?" I
asked with my lips dry, and I knew that my voice showed hate of a man
who was dead.
She did not answer my question, and when she did not defend him I knew
that he had been hard to her. "I must have remained unconscious a long
time," she hurried on, "for when I came to myself again the country was
different and the sun was low. I was exhausted, and I could not think
as I had done. You had said that patriotism was a man-made feeling,
and I repeated your words over and over.
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