I knew she had meant it for
the best--my best. It was only that she was mistaken.
And then, a month after she had died, Hugh Blair came to me and
asked me to be his wife. He said he had always loved me, and
could never love any other woman.
All my old love for him reawakened. I wanted to say yes--to feel
his strong arms about me, and the warmth of his love enfolding
and guarding me. In my weakness I yearned for his strength.
But there was my promise to Hester--that promise give by her
deathbed. I could not break it, and I told him so. It was the
hardest thing I had ever done.
He did not go away quietly this time. He pleaded and reasoned
and reproached. Every word of his hurt me like a knife-thrust.
But I could not break my promise to the dead. If Hester had been
living I would have braved her wrath and her estrangement and
gone to him. But she was dead and I could not do it.
Finally he went away in grief and anger. That was three weeks
ago--and now I sat alone in the moonlit rose-garden and wept for
him. But after a time my tears dried and a very strange feeling
came over me. I felt calm and happy, as if some wonderful love
and tenderness were very near me.
And now comes the strange part of my story--the part which will
not, I suppose, be believed. If it were not for one thing I
think I should hardly believe it myself. I should feel tempted
to think I had dreamed it.
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