For aught he knew, the hope of happier days, which
he had urged upon her, might be already stealing into her heart.
It gave him but little comfort now to recognize the fact that he
had never loved Jennie Burton--that he had never known what the
word meant until swept away by the irresistible tide of a passion,
the power of which already appalled him. To say that he did not
feel like keeping his promise now, or that his feelings had changed,
he knew would be regarded as an excuse beneath contempt, and a week
since he himself would have pronounced the most merciless judgment
against a man in his present position.
Before the vigil of that night was over, he decided that he could
not meet either Ida Mayhew or Jennie Burton again. He believed
that Ida Mayhew understood him only too well now, and that she
thoroughly despised him. Indeed, from her manner of passing him,
he doubted whether she willingly would speak to him again, for her
veil had prevented him from seeing the pallor and traces of grief
which she was so anxious to hide. In his morbidly sensitive state,
it seemed a deliberate but just withdrawal of even her acquaintance.
He felt that the brief dream of Ida Mayhew was over forever, and
that she would indeed keep the priceless kingdom of her heart from
him above all others.
Pages:
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673