What a wretched cur he was! How lacking in nerve! Any
woman, he muttered to himself, was better off without such a
feeble-willed, spineless husband!
The fierce winds and whirling sands that stung his cheeks and buffeted
him seemed a merited castigation, a castigation that amounted to a
penance. He welcomed their punishment. As he stumbled on through the
pitch black of the night, he asked himself what he was going to do.
Was he always to go on loving Sarah Libbie and letting her love him and
never in manly fashion bring the affair to a climax? If he did not
mean to make her his wife, had he the right to stand in the way and
prevent her from marrying some one else? The baldness of the question
brought him up with a turn, and as he paused breathlessly awaiting his
own verdict, his eye was caught by the lantern dangling from his hand.
He regarded it with slow wonder as if he had never seen it before. Why
had he never thought until now of this method of communication? Not
only was it simple and direct, but it also obviated the difficulty that
had always been the stumbling-block in his path,--the necessity of
confronting Sarah Libbie in the flesh.
Pages:
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298