His voice trembled.
She could hear his heart beating with large strokes. His presence
surrounded her like an atmosphere, and in the darkness she clutched her
own breast to keep the rapture from physically hurting her.
"Maria, did you know that my wife was dead?"
"Oh, James, no!"
Her whisper was more than a caress. It was surrender and peace and
forgiveness. It was the snapping of a tension which had held her two
years.
"Oh, James, when I saw you to-night I did not know what to do. I have
not been well. You have borne it so much better than I have."
"I thought," said Dr. Dunlap, "it would be best for us to talk matters
over."
She caught her breath. What was the matter with this man? Once he had
lain at her feet and kissed the hem of her garment. He was hers. She had
never relinquished her ownership of him even when her honor had
constrained her to live apart from him. Whose could he be but hers?
Dr. Dunlap had thought twenty-four hours on what he would say at this
unavoidable meeting, and he acknowledged in a business-like tone,--
"I did not treat you right, Maria.
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