Why had he never thought of her again until Clarence Breckenridge
brought her back with him, a bride, six years later? Or, rather,
having thought of her, as he undoubtedly had, why had he not found
the time to cross the water and go to see her? Nothing might have
come of it, true. But she might have yielded to him as readily as
to Clarence Breckenridge!
"I love her!" he said to himself, and it seemed wonderful, sad,
and sweet, joyous and terrible to admit it. "I love her. But she
doesn't love me or anyone, poor Rachael! She's forgotten me
already!"