Her face had been his one thought, his one
standard of womanly beauty, for so many years that he was amazed to find
that he had never known before how beautiful she was. A moment since and
he had seen the March sunshine upon all the light, soft rings of curling
hair that covered her head, and he had seen her laughter, and the oval
turn of the dimpled chin, and within the face he had seen what he knew
now he had always seen, but never before so clearly--the soul that was
strong to suffer as well as strong to enjoy.
By the narrow farm-path which his horse was treading Caius came to the
road he had left, and, turning homeward, could not help coming in front
of the little cottage whose back wall he had so lately visited. He had
no thought but of passing as quickly as might be, but he saw O'Shea's
wife standing before the door, looking for him with her quiet, eager
eyes. She came out a few steps, and Caius, hardly stopping, stooped his
head to hear what she had to say.
"I won't tell her," said the woman; then she pleaded: "Let her be, poor
thing! Let her be happy while she can."
She had slipped back into the house; Caius had gone on; and then he knew
that he had this new word to puzzle over. For why should he be supposed
to molest the happy hours of the woman he loved, and what could be the
sorrow that dogged her life, if her happy hours were supposed to be rare
and precious? O'Shea's wife he had observed before this to be a faithful
and trusted friend of her mistress; no doubt she spoke then with the
authority of knowledge and love.
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