He could read Edith Hastings aright--could fathom her
utmost thoughts, find he knew how she shrank from the future
dreading a return to Collingwood, and what awaited her there. He
knew, too, that but a few words from himself were needed to keep
her at Sunnybank with him forever. Others might be powerless to
influence her decision, but he was not; he could change her whole
future life by whispering in her ear, "Stay with me, Edith; don't
go back," but the Arthur of to-day was stronger than the Arthur of
one year ago, and though the temptation was a terrible one, he met
it bravely, and would not deal thus treacherously with Richard,
who had so generously trusted her with him. Edith must keep her
vow, and when at last he spoke, it was to say something of the
journey, as if that had all the time been uppermost in his mind.
"He does not love me any more, and I don't care," was Edith's
mental comment, as she soon after left him and hurried to her
room, where she wept herself to sleep, never suspecting how long
and dreary was that night to the young man whose eyelids never for
a moment closed, and who, as the day was breaking, stole out to
Nina's grave, finding there a peace which kept his soul from
fainting.
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