My sympathies were
altogether with her, and I had already begun to dream of her as free.
She had come into contact with my life in such a way as to impress me
greatly; we had been thrown together in strange familiarity. Little by
little I had grown to appreciate her beauty, not only of face, but also
of womanly character. Already she swayed and controlled me as no other
of her sex ever had. I thrilled to the touch of her hand, to the sweep
of her dress, and the glance of her eye. Not until now did I realize
fully all she had unconsciously become to me, or how I dreaded the
reappearance of Henley. Would she return to him? Would she forgive
the past? These were haunting questions from which I found no escape.
I could not be ignorant of the fact that she liked me, trusted me as a
friend. But beyond this rather colorless certainty I possessed no
assurance. I thought I had read a deeper meaning in her eyes, enough
to yield a flash of hope, but nothing more substantial. And now--now
even this must be rubbed out. She was not the kind to ever compromise
with duty, nor to pretend. No love for me, even if it had already
begun to blossom in her secret heart, would make her disloyal to sacred
vows. I knew that, and deep down in my own consciousness, honored her
the more, even while I struggled against the inevitable.
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