Dear Edith, up here one can talk. It is such a
beautiful world. One can open one's eyes, one can breathe, one can look
around him. It is the joy of simple things, the real true joy of life
which beats in our veins. Do you think that we were made for
unhappiness in such a world, Edith?"
"No!" she whispered, faintly.
"There isn't anything so beautiful to me upon God's earth," he
continued, "as the love in my heart for you. I wanted to tell you so
this evening. I have brought you here to tell you so--to this
particular spot. Something tells me that it may be almost our last
chance. I left those two whispering upon the lawn. What is it they are
planning, I wonder? That man Bomford is no companion for your father.
He has given him an idea about me and my story. What is it, I wonder?
To rob me, to throw me out, to take my treasure from me by force?"
"You are my father's guest," she reminded him softly. "He will not
forget it."
"There are greater things in the world," he went on, "than the
obligations of hospitality. There are tides which sweep away the
landmarks of nature herself. Your father is thirsty for knowledge.
This man Bomford is his friend. There have been more crimes committed
in the world for lofty motives than one hears of.
Pages:
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185