"_This_ was your secret? Tell me, then. Look--_I_ am strong! Tell
me about it. I might have thought of this. I thought only of myself.
I might have known there was good reason for the distance you put
between us. Forgive me--oh, forgive the pain I have caused you!
"You asking for forgiveness? How you must despise me."
"Why should I despise you? You have never said a word to me that any
friend, any near friend, might not have said, never since I myself,
in my folly, forbade you to. You were not bound to tell me--"
"I had told your grandfather," Waymark said in a broken voice. "In a
letter I wrote the very day he was taken ill, I begged him to let
you know that I had bound myself."
As he spoke he knew that he was excusing himself with a truth which
implied a falsehood, and before it was too late his soul revolted
against the unworthiness.
"But it was my own fault that it was left so long. I would not let
him tell you when he wished to; I put off the day as long as I
could."
"Since you first knew me?" she asked, in a low voice.
"No! Since you came to live here. I was free before."
It was the part of his confession which cost him most to utter, and
the hearing of it chilled Ida's heart.
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