She had married
not knowing what love and passion were; uncomprehending, and innocent
because uncomprehending; with a fine affection, but capable of loving
wholly. One thing had purified her motives and her life--the desire to
share with Eglington his public duty and private hopes, to be his
confidante, his friend, his coadjutor, proud of him, eager for him,
determined to help him. But he had blocked the path to all inner
companionship. He did no more than let her share the obvious and outer
responsibilities of his life. From the vital things, if there were vital
things, she was shut out. What would she not give for one day of simple
tenderness and quiet affection, a true day with a true love!
She was now perfectly composed. She told him the substance of the letter,
of David's plight, of the fever, of the intended fight, of Nahoum Pasha,
of the peril to David's work. He continued to interrogate her, while she
could have shrieked out the question, "What is in yonder document? What
do you know? Have you news of his safety?" Would he never stop his
questioning? It was trying her strength and patience beyond endurance.
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