She picked it up with a little cry.
"The very glove that I lost four years ago! And you are--" she stopped
suddenly.
He paled to the lips, but, lifting his head proudly, said: "Go on. Finish
the sentence. I can bear it."
"No, I will not go on. Let the memory die, I knew you then, but you were
so young, and had to bear so much among temptations! And the other was a
villain. No, I am silent. You are safe."
He stooped, and, lifting the border of her shawl, kissed it reverently.
"If I live," he said solemnly, "you will be glad you have been so
merciful. Some time I shall hear you say so."
She did not purchase any laces. She went out forgetful of her errand, and
Arch was so awkward for the remainder of the day, and committed so many
blunders, that his fellow-clerks laughed at him unrebuked, and Mr.
Belgrade seriously wondered if Trevlyn had not been taking too much
champagne.
* * * * *
Margie Harrison and her guardian sat at breakfast. Mr. Trevlyn showed his
years very plainly. He was nearly seventy-five--he looked eighty.
Margie looked very lovely this morning and it was of this the old man was
thinking as he glanced at her across the table. She had more than
fulfilled the promise of her childhood.
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