Very soon he would forget her. Other
interests would arise, other women would become his friends, and he
would forget the Welsh girl who had attracted him for a while, or
remember her only as the companion of a rough adventure. What did it
mean? Why was her heart so sore? Why had she felt as though she should
die when they told her that he was dead?
Then the answer rose in her breast. She loved him; it was useless to
deny the truth--she loved him body, and heart and soul, with all
her mind and all her strength. She was his, and his alone--to-day,
to-morrow, and for ever. He might go from her sight, she might never,
never see him more, but love him she always must. And he was married!
Well, it was her misfortune; it could not affect the solemn truth.
What should she do now, how should she endure her life when her eyes
no longer saw his eyes, and her ears never heard his voice? She saw the
future stretch itself before her as a vision. She saw herself forgotten
by this man whom she loved, or from time to time remembered only with
a faint regret. She saw herself growing slowly old, her beauty fading
yearly from her face and form, companioned only by the love that grows
not old.
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