One thought filled his brain--one great, overpowering
truth, which excluded everything else--and this was the realization that
the woman he loved was not Colonel Becker's wife. She was free. And for
him--Philip Steele--there was hope--hope--Suddenly it dawned upon him
what the flowers meant. The colonel had written the letter, and Isobel
had sent the faded violets, with their golden thread. It was her message
to him--a message without words, and yet with a deeper meaning for him
than words could have expressed. In a flood there rushed back upon him
all the old visions which he had fought against, and he saw her again in
the glow of the campfire, and on the trail, glorious in her beauty, his
ideal of all that a woman should be.
He rose to his feet and locked his door, fearing that some one might
enter. He wanted to be alone, to realize fully what had happened, to
regain control of his emotions. If Isobel Becker had merely written him
a line or two, a note exculpating herself of what her father had already
explained away, he would still have thought that a world lay between
them. But, in place of that, she had sent him the faded flowers, with
their golden thread!
For many minutes he paced back and forth across his narrow room, and
never had a room looked more like a prison cell to him than this one did
now.
Pages:
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101