But she never did; and after
awhile, finding that his persistence only pained her, he accepted the
situation. She was not the type of woman about whom people talk
scandal, nor would it have troubled her much had they done so. Able
now to work where he would, he took a house in a neighbouring
village, where for the best part of the year he lived, near to her.
And to the end they remained lovers."
"I think I understand," said Robina. "I will tell you afterwards if
I am wrong."
"I told the story to a woman many years ago," I said, "and she also
thought she understood. But she was only half right."
"We will see," said Robina. "Go on."
"She left a letter, to be given to him after her death, in case he
survived her; if not, to be burned unopened. In it she told him her
reason, or rather her reasons, for having refused him. It was an odd
letter. The 'reasons' sounded so pitiably insufficient. Until one
took the pains to examine them in the cold light of experience. And
then her letter struck one, not as foolish, but as one of the
grimmest commentaries upon marriage that perhaps had ever been
penned.
"It was because she had wished always to remain his ideal; to keep
their love for one another to the end, untarnished; to be his true
helpmeet in all things, that she had refused to marry him.
"Had he spoken that morning she had waited for him in the lane--she
had half hoped, half feared it--she might have given her promise:
'For Youth,' so she wrote, 'always dreams it can find a new way.
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