"
"That would be hard, indeed," she murmured. "Yet I would hear you say
it."
"Listen, then: once, when we three were at the very door and threshold
of death, you wrote the cry of your heart out on a bit of paper for a
leave-taking and sent it to the man you loved. You said, 'Though you
must needs believe my love is pledged to your dear friend and mine, 'tis
yours, and yours alone.' Were not these your very words?"
Her "yes" was but the lightest whisper, but I heard it and went on.
"That is all, save this; the Indian bearer of your letter blundered and
gave it me instead of Dick."
She looked me full in the eyes and my soul went all afire. Then she laid
her cheek against my knee and I heard her dear voice as it had been a
chime of sweet-toned joy-bells:
"Ah, Monsieur John; how blind this thing called love can make us all.
Suppose--suppose the Indian did not blunder, dear lord and master of
me?"
***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MASTER OF APPLEBY***
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