"
"I will go out in the garden while you read it," he said. "In a half-
hour I will come back, and then we can say good-bye," he added, with pain
in his voice, but firmly.
"No, do not go," she urged. "Sit here on the bench--at the end of it
here," she said, motioning with her hand.
He shook his head in negation. "No, I will go and say to your mother
that I have told you, and ease her mind, for I know she herself meant to
tell you."
As he went he looked at her face closely. It was so young, so pathetic,
so pale, yet so strangely beautiful, and her forehead was serene. That
was one of her characteristics. In all her life, her forehead remained
untroubled and unlined. Only at her mouth and in her eyes did misery or
sorrow show. He looked into her eyes now, and he was pleased with what
he saw; for they had in them the glow of understanding and the note of
will which said: "You and I are parted, but I believe in you, and I will
not show I am a weak woman by futile horror. We shall meet no more, but
I shall remember you."
That was what he saw, and it was what he wished to see.
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