I would like to thank him, at least. I begged her to tell me, but she
would not. She said he would not want me to know--that for me to attempt
to reimburse him would, to his mind, rob him of his real reward."
Conrad Lagrange, his head bowed, spoke quietly to the dog at his feet.
Rising, Czar laid his soft muzzle on his master's knee and looked up into
the homely, world-worn face. Gently, the strange man--so lonely and
embittered in the fame that he had won--at a price--stroked the brown
head. "Your mother knew best, Aaron," he said slowly, without looking at
his companion. "You must believe that she knew best. Her beautiful spirit
could not lead her astray. She was right in this, also. Your sentiment
does you honor, but you must respect her wish. Whoever the man was--she
had reasons, I am sure, for feeling as she did--that it would be better
for you not to know. It was some one, perhaps, whose influence upon you,
she had cause to fear."
"It was very strange," returned the artist, hesitatingly. "Perhaps I ought
not to say it. But I felt that, as you suggest, she feared for me to know.
She seemed to want to tell me, but did not, for _my_ sake. It was very
strange."
Conrad Lagrange made no reply.
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