Now the girl had grown to gracious womanhood, and when he saw her he was thrilled with the remembrance that she had once
favored him above all others. One night a desire assailed him to
learn upon what footing he then stood. He had yielded, and she
gave him a kindly welcome. They had drifted to reminiscence,
and Clayton went home that night troubled at heart and angry that
he should be so easily disturbed; surprised that the days were
passing so swiftly, and pained that they were filled less and less
with thoughts of Easter. With a pang of remorse and fear, he
determined to go back to the mountains as soon as his father came
home. He knew the effect of habit. He would forget these
pleasures felt so keenly now, as he had once forgotten them, and
he would leave before their hold upon him was secure.
Knowing the danger that beset him, Puritan that he was, he had
avoided it all he could. He even stopped his daily visits to the
club, and spent most of his time at home with his mother and
sister. Once only, to his bitter regret, was he induced to go out.
Wagner's tidal wave had reached New York; it was the opening
night of the season, and the opera was one that he had learned to love in Germany. The very brilliancy of the scene threw him into gloom, so aloof did he feel from it all-the great theatre aflame with lights, the circling tiers of faces, the pit with its hundred musicians, their eyes on the leader, who stood above them
with baton upraised and German face already aglow.
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