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Bacheller, Irving, 1859-1950

"Eben Holden, a tale of the north country"


'When? Where?' I asked.
'In Mrs Fuller's parlour.'
'Hope,' I said, 'you misunderstood me; I meant you.
She came toward me, then, looking up into my eyes. I started to
embrace her but she caught my hands and held them apart and
came close to me.
'Did you say that you meant me?' she asked in a whisper.
'I did.'
'Why did you not tell me that night?
'Because you would not listen to me and we were interrupted.
'Well if I loved a girl,' she said, 'I'd make her listen.'
'I would have done that but Mrs Fuller saved you.'
'You might have written,' she suggested in a tone of injury.
'I did.'
'And the letter never came - just as I feared.'
She looked very sober and thoughtful then.
'You know our understanding that day in the garden,' she added. 'If
you did not ask me again I was to know you - you did not love me
any longer. That was long, long ago.
'I never loved any girl but you,' I said. 'I love you now, Hope, and
that is enough - I love you so there is nothing else for me.


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