I am not dead." And her happy dream was gone.
George Hagar, looking up from below, saw her sitting alone and slowly made
his way toward her. The result of the meeting between these two seemed
evident. The man had gone. Never in his life had Hagar suffered more than
in the past half hour. That this woman whom he loved--the only woman he
had ever loved as a mature man loves--should be alone with the man who had
made shipwreck of her best days set his veins on fire. She had once loved
Mark Telford. Was it impossible that she should love him again? He tried
to put the thought from him as ungenerous, unmanly, but there is a maggot
which gets into men's brains at times, and it works its will in spite of
them. He reasoned with himself. He recalled the look of perfect confidence
and honesty with which she regarded him before they parted just now. He
talked gayly to Baron and Mildred Margrave, told them to what different
periods of architecture the ruins belonged, and by sheer force of will
drove away a suspicion--a fear--as unreasonable as it was foolish. Yet, as
he talked, the remembrance of the news he had to tell Mrs. Detlor, which
might--probably would--be shipwreck to his hopes of marriage, came upon
him, and presently made him silent, so that he wandered away from the
others.
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