Colonel Falconer would never forget as long as he lived, nor would
Pansy, the awful suspense of that night. He spent it among the
mountains, walking hard all night, in order to overcome his misery by
sheer physical weakness. She spent it on her knees by her bedside,
praying.
It seemed to her that it would be wrong to desert Colonel Falconer and
go back to her dear love, her faithful husband, even though she really
belonged to him, for it would surely break Colonel Falconer’s heart.
“And how could I be happy even with my beloved Norman and our darling
child, if I knew that I had caused the death of one who loved me so
well, and who had died for my sake?” the generous young wife kept
saying over and over to herself, and resolutely shutting out of her
heart all thoughts of the happiness she could have if she returned to
Norman.
Passionately as she loved Norman, her young heart had become so inured
to sorrow, that she was capable of making a great sacrifice for
another’s sake, and at last she decided that for Colonel Falconer’s
sake she would bear the burden of a secret sorrow till the day of her
death.
“Norman believes me dead long ago, and he need never be undeceived,”
she thought. “Then, too, he will have our sweet little boy to comfort
him, while I will pray for them both every night, and feel that I
have done right to sacrifice my one chance of earthly happiness for
another’s sake.”
Her resolve did not falter, although it had cost her so much to make
it, and in the morning, when she went down to breakfast, she was pale
as a lily, and the blue circles under her downcast eyes hinted at
bitter tears shed in the lonely vigils of the night.
Colonel Falconer had come in an hour before from his wild mountain
tramp, and appeared at breakfast freshly dressed, but wretchedly pale
and weary-looking, with a despairing look in his eyes that it was
impossible to hide.
The unhappy pair made a slight pretense at eating, then went out on the
porch together, and Pansy said quietly:
“Let us walk up the mountain road a little way, that no one may
overhear what I wish to say to you.”
They walked away out of earshot of Charles and Phebe, who had no idea
that anything was wrong between their master and mistress, and then
Colonel Falconer asked sadly:
“Have you made up your mind, dear?”
“Yes; I shall stay with you.”
He stared at her, speechless with wonder, until the warm color rose to
her face; then he exclaimed:
“My dear Pansy, how could you do that? I explained to you, did I not,
that our marriage was not legal?”
Placing her trembling little hand on his arm, she whispered:
“I understand all that. What I meant was that--you--should--help me--to
secure a divorce--from Norman Wylde--that I might quietly remarry you.
It could be done, could it not?”
His face shone with happiness and love as he replied:
“It would be easy enough, I think; but, Pansy, darling, it would not
be right for me to permit this sacrifice on your part.”
“I will not permit you to call it a sacrifice. I love you, and I prefer
to cast my lot with yours,” she answered truly.