But even through his sealed lids he saw her; and her clear gaze pierced
him, blinded as he was, leaning there, both hands pressed across his
eyes.
Sooner or later--sooner or later he must write to her and tell what must
be told. How to do it, when to do it, he did not know. What to say he
did not know; but that there was something due her from him--something
to say, something to confess--to ask her pardon for--he understood.
Happily for her--happily for him, alas!--love, in its full miracle, had
remained beyond her comprehension. That she cared for him with all her
young heart he knew; that she had not come to love him he knew, too. So
that crowning misery of happiness was spared him.
Yet he knew, too, that there had been a chance for him; that her
awakening had not been wholly impossible. Loyal in his soul to the dread
duty before him, he must abandon hope; loyal in his heart to her, he
must abandon her, lest, by chance, in the calm, still happiness of their
intimacy the divine moment, unheralded, flash out through the veil,
dazzling, blinding them with the splendour of its truth and beauty.
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