There was no more of yielding or softening
in the set features and severe eyes than you would find in those of a
corpse three hours old, whose spirit has passed in some great anger or
pain. Can you guess what made him more than ever hard and unrelenting?
He was thinking _who_ tried to win a kind farewell from him six months
ago, and utterly failed. Should her rival have this triumph, too, over
the dead?
As he answered deliberately, each slow word shut out another hope, like
bolts shot, one by one, in the lock of a prison door.
"I remember nothing of the past except your last act, for which I will
never, never forgive you. I form no wish for your welfare or for the
reverse. There shall not stand the faintest shadow of a connecting link
that I can break asunder. Between you and me there is the gulf of a
fresh-made grave, and no thought of mine shall ever cross it--so help me
God in Heaven!"
Flora's last arrow was shivered: if she had had another in her quiver,
she would have had no courage to try it after hearing those terrible
words. She caught his hand, however, before he could guess her
intention, and pressed her lips upon it till they left their print
behind, and then she was gone.
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