"They will not go: they are quite quiet," he said. "Wait--ah, wait for
a few minutes! I have a feeling that if I let you go I shall not see
you again; and that would--that would be more than I could bear. That
night at the inn the landlord told me about you. Of course he had
nothing but praise and admiration for you--who would have any other?
But he told me of the lonely life you led, of the care you took of your
father, of your devotion and goodness; and the picture of you living at
the great, silent house, without friends or companions--well, it
haunted me! I could see it all so plainly--I, who am not usually quick
at seeing things. As a rule, I'm not impressed by women--Howard says I
am cold and bored--perhaps he's right; but I could not get you out of
my mind. I felt that I wanted to see you again."
He paused again, as if the state of mind he was describing was a puzzle
to himself--paused and frowned.
"I left the inn and started up the road--I suppose I wanted to get a
glimpse of the house in which you lived. Yes; that must have been it.
And then, all at once, I saw you. I remember the frock you wore that
night--you looked like an angel, a spirit standing there in the
moonlight, the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.
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