But now Cameron knew
that he was no longer blind, and in this flash of revelation he
felt that it had been given him to help Warren with his burden.
He returned to camp trying to evolve a plan. As always at that
long hour when the afterglow of sunset lingered in the west,
Warren plodded to and fro in the gloom. All night Cameron lay
awake thinking.
In the morning, when Warren brought the burros to camp and began
preparations for the usual packing, Cameron broke silence.
"Pardner, your story last night made me think. I want to tell you
something about myself. It's hard enough to be driven by sorrow
for one you've loved, as you've been driven; but to suffer sleepless
and eternal remorse for the ruin of one you've loved as I have
suffered--that is hell. . . . Listen. In my younger days--it seems
long now, yet it's not so many years--I was wild. I wronged the
sweetest and loveliest girl I ever knew. I went away not dreaming
that any disgrace might come to her. Along about that time I fell
into terrible moods--I changed--I learned I really loved her. Then
came a letter I should have gotten months before. It told of her
trouble--importuned me to hurry to save her. Half frantic with
shame and fear, I got a marriage certificate and rushed back to her town.
She was gone--had been gone for weeks, and her disgrace was known.
Friends warned me to keep out of reach of her father. I trailed her--
found her. I married her. But too late!.
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