No, she could not blame
him--only--only--she wished--oh how she wished--that she had understood.
It would not have hurt so, perhaps, if she had understood.
In all the cruel tangle of her emotions, in all her confused and
bewildering thoughts, in all her suffering one thing was clear; she must
get away from the world that could see only evil--she must go at once.
Conrad Lagrange and Aaron King might come at any moment. She could not
face them; now that she knew. She wished Myra was home. But she would
leave a little note and Myra--dear Myra with her disfigured face--would
understand.
Quickly, the girl wrote her letter. Hurriedly, she dressed in her mountain
costume. Still acting under her blind impulse to escape, she made no
explanations to the neighbors, when she went for the horse. In her desire
to avoid coming face to face with any one, she even chose the more
unfrequented streets through the orange groves. In her humiliation and
shame, she wished for the kindly darkness of the night. Not until she had
left the city far behind, and, in the soft dusk, drew near the mouth of
the canyon, did she regain some measure of her self-control.
As she was overtaking the Power Company's team and wagon of supplies, she
turned in her saddle, for the first time, to look back.
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