Yet she knew that she had done right
to draw back. Regret it though she might again and again in the bitter
days to come, she knew--and she would always know--that at the eleventh
hour she had done right.
She had been true to the greatest impulse that had ever stirred
her soul. It had been at a frightful cost. She had sacrificed
everything--everything--to a vision that she might never realize. She
had cast away all the glitter and the wealth for this far greater thing
which yet could never be more to her than a golden dream. She had even
cast away love, and her heart still bled at the memory. But she had been
true--she had been true.
Not yet was the sacrifice ended. She knew that a cruel ordeal yet awaited
her. There was the morrow to be faced, the morrow with its renewal of
disgrace and punishment. Her mother was furious with her, so furious that
for the first time in her life her father had intervened on her behalf
and temporarily restrained the flow of wrath. Perhaps he had seen her
utter weariness, for he had advised her, not unkindly, to go to bed. She
had gone to her room, thankful to escape, but neither tea nor supper had
followed her thither. Billy had come to bid her good night long ago, but,
though he had not said so, he also, it seemed, was secretly disgusted
with her, and he had not lingered. It would be the same with everyone,
she thought to herself wearily.
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