The existence of such a doubt was the only thing that could explain the
tone of his letters. He was a man of firmness and decision, and when he
had reached a conclusion, she knew he would state it frankly, without
hesitation. But she also knew that he was a man of a kind and tender
heart, and it was easy to understand how that disposition had influenced
his action. By no word or phrase, except such as were necessary to
legally protect her in the rights he wished to give her in case of his
death, had he written anything to indicate that he or she were not both
perfectly free to plan out the rest of their lives as best suited them.
In a certain way, his kindness was cruelty. It threw too much upon her.
She believed that if she were to assume that a marriage ceremony
performed by a black man from the wilds of Africa, was as binding, at
least, as a solemn engagement, he would accept her construction and all
its consequences. She also believed that if she declared that ceremony
to be of no value whatever, now that the occasion had passed, he would
agree with that conclusion. Everything depended upon her. It was too
hard for her.
To exist in this state of uncertainty was impossible for a woman of
Edna's organization. At any hour Captain Horn might appear. How should
she receive him? What had she to say to him?
For the rest of that day and the whole of the night, her mind never left
this question: "What am I to say to him?" She had replied to his letter
by a telegram, and simply signed herself "Edna.
Pages:
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414