"
She drew back from him, and her look said that she would read him to the
uttermost word in his life's book, would see the heart of this wonderful
thing; and then with a hungry cry, she flung her arms around his neck and
pressed her wet eyes against his flushed cheek.
A half-hour later, as they wandered back to the house he suddenly
stopped, put his hands on her shoulders, looked earnestly in her eyes,
and said:
"God's good to me. I hope I'll remember that."
"You won't be so blind as to forget," she answered, and she wound her
fingers in his with a feeling which was more than the simple love of
woman for man. "I've got much more to remember than you have," she added.
Suddenly she put both hands upon his breast. "You don't understand; you
can't understand, but I tell you that I shall have to fight hard if I am
to be all you want me to be. I have got a past to forget; you have a past
you want to remember--that's the difference. I must tell you the truth:
it's in my veins, that old life, in spite of all. Listen. I ought to have
told you, and I meant to tell you before this happened, but when I saw
you there, and you held out your arms to me, I forgot everything. Yet
still I must tell you now, though perhaps you will hate me when you know.
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