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"Did--did Amy release you?"
"Yes, she was kindness itself. She told me in good plain English that she
wanted neither me nor my promise; that she didn't think that she ever
could have loved me, no matter how long I might have waited. But I could
not look into your clear eyes and say, 'I love you,' and know that you
might learn from her or any one that I had said this before. If you won't
trust me, having had the whole truth, then I must bear my hard fate as
best I can."
"How long would you be willing to wait for me?" she asked, in tones so
low that he could scarcely catch the words.
He bounded to her side, and took her unresisting hand. "Oh, Gertrude," he
pleaded, "prove me, give me a chance, let me show that I am not without
manhood and constancy. Believe me, I know the priceless gift I'm asking,
but what else can I do? I have tried for weeks to conquer the feeling you
have inspired, tried with all the help that pride and sense of duty and
honor could give, but it has been utterly useless. I now am free; I have
the right to speak. I have concealed nothing from you. I'm wholly at your
mercy."
At last she raised her downcast eyes and averted face to his, and for a
moment he was dazed at their expression. In tones sweet, low, and deep
with her strong emotion, she said, "Burt, how glad I am that you men are
blind! I found out that I loved you before we went to our mountain camp."
She sprang up and gave him her other hand as she continued: "Can love
impose such hard conditions as you suggest--months of doubtful waiting
for one who risked his life for me without a second's hesitation? That is
not my nature, Burt.
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