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London, Jack, 1876-1916

"The Son of the Wolf"

O, Clyde!
promise me you won't?'
'There, there! You musn't begin to doubt already. Till death do
us part, you know.'
'Think! I once said that to--to him, and now?' 'And now, little
sweetheart, you're not to bother about such things any more.
Of course, I never, never will, and--' And for the first time,
lips trembled against lips.
Father Roubeau had been watching the main trail through the
window, but could stand the strain no longer.
He cleared his throat and turned around.
'Your turn now, Father!' Wharton's face was flushed with the fire
of his first embrace.
There was an exultant ring to his voice as he abdicated in the
other's favor. He had no doubt as to the result. Neither had
Grace, for a smile played about her mouth as she faced the
priest.
'My child,' he began, 'my heart bleeds for you. It is a pretty
dream, but it cannot be.'
'And why, Father? I have said yes.' 'You knew not what you did.
You did not think of the oath you took, before your God, to that
man who is your husband. It remains for me to make you realize
the sanctity of such a pledge.' 'And if I do realize, and yet
refuse?'
'Then God'
'Which God? My husband has a God which I care not to worship.


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