Oh, how it aches, how it aches, and still I love
her just the same; aye, love her more, now that I know she must
not be mine. Edith, oh, my Edith!"
Then Richard's thoughts turned upon Arthur. He must talk with him,
and he could not meet him there at Collingwood. There were too
many curious eyes to see, too many ears to listen. At Grassy
Spring they would be more retired, and thither he would go, that
very night. He never should sleep again until he heard from
Arthur's own lips a confirmation of the cruel story. He could not
ask Edith. Her voice would stir his heart-strings with a keener,
deeper agony than he was enduring now. But to Arthur he could
speak openly, and then too--Richard was loth to confess it, even
to himself, but it was, never the less, true--Arthur, though a
man, was gentler than Edith. He would be more careful, more
tender, and while Edith might confirm the whole with one of her
wild, impulsive outbursts, Arthur would reach the same point
gradually and less painfully.
"Order the carriage, Victor," he said, as it was growing dark in
the room.
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