He loved
her! Yes, strange as it seemed even then to him, Truedale acknowledged
that he loved her with the love, unlike yet like the love that had been
too rudely awakened in the lonely woods when he had been still incapable
of understanding it.
Then the storm outside reached his consciousness and awakened memories
that hurt and stung him.
No. He was not as many men who could take and take and find excuse. The
very sincerity of the past and future must prove itself, now, in this
throbbing, vital present. Only so could he justify himself and his
belief in goodness. He must open his heart and soul to the woman beside
him. There was no other alternative.
But first they dined together across the hall. Truedale noted every
special dish--the meal was composed of his favourite viands. The
intimacy of sitting opposite Lynda, the smiling pleasure of old Thomas
who served them, combined to lure him again from his stern sense of
duty.
Why? Why? his yearning pleaded. Why should he destroy his own future
happiness and that of this sweet, innocent woman for a whim--that was
what he tried to term it--of conscience? Why, there were men, thousands
of them, who would call him by a harsher name than he cared to own, if
he followed such a course; and yet--then Truedale looked across at
Lynda.
"A woman should have clear vision and choice," his reason commanded, and
to this his love agreed.
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