She had known that there were
obstacles insurmountable between them and the happy consummation of their
love. She had faced the fact that the glory would depart.
Again he felt the clinging of her arms as he had felt it only that
afternoon. Again against his lips there rose her quivering whisper, "Just
for to-day, Dick! Just for to-day!" Yes, she had known even then. Even
then for her the glory had begun to fade.
He clenched his hands in sudden fierce rebellion. It was unbearable. He
would not endure it. This stroke of destiny--he would fight it with all
the strength of his manhood. He would overthrow this nameless barrier
that had arisen between them. He would sacrifice all--all he had--to
reach her. Somehow--whatever the struggle might cost--he would clasp her
again, would hold her against all the world.
And then--like a poisoned arrow out of the darkness--another thought
pierced him. What if she were indeed of those who loved for a space and
passed smiling on? What if the fatal taint of the world from which she
had come to him had touched her also, withering the heart in her, making
true love a thing impossible? What if she had indeed been fashioned in
the same mould as the worthless woman whom she sought to defend?
But that was unthinkable, intolerable.
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