"I don't think I could have done it. It's several
hours before we embark. I was just figuring on how I could reach you in
time."
"Really?" she murmured.
"Honestly."
"Well, if you had gone without a word, I couldn't have blamed you"--she
paused and bit her lips--"I was very foolish that day."
"It was my fault," he broke in, "all my fault. I was a brute. I realized
it too late. I'd have eaten my pride and gone back to see you the day I
reached Washington if I had thought it any use. I have never seen such a
look in the eyes of a woman as you gave me that day, Miss Betty. If
there had been any love in your heart I knew that I had killed it----"
She looked into his eyes with a tender smile:
"I thought you had----"
He pressed her hand tenderly.
"But now?"
"I know that love can't be killed by a kiss."
She stopped suddenly, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him. He
held her close for a moment, murmuring:
"My sweetheart--my darling!"
Through four swift beautiful hours they sat on a log, held each other's
hands, and told over and over the old sweet story. Another long, tender
embrace and he was gone. She stood on the little wharf, among hundreds
of weeping sisters and mothers and sweethearts, and watched his boat
drift down the river. He waved his handkerchief to her until the big
unfinished dome of the Capitol began to fade on the distant horizon.
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