It was a momentous truth, that had
suddenly been made known as some irretrievable misfortune might
have been revealed. She had read of love as children hear of mental
anxieties and conflicts of which they have no comprehension. As she
grew older it had been like poetry, music, romance--something that
kindled her imagination into vague, pleasant dreams. It had been as
remote from the present and her own experience as lives of adventure
in strange and foreign lands. She had awakened at last to find that
it was like her vital breath. By some law of her nature she had given,
not merely her thoughts and affection, but her very self to another.
To her dismay it made no difference that he had not sought the gift
and was not even aware of it. Circumstances over which she had no
control had brought her into close companionship with Graydon Muir.
She had seen him almost daily for years; she knew him with the
intimacy of a sister, yet without the safeguard of a natural tie; and
from his genial kindness she had drawn almost all the life she had
ever possessed. With an unconsciousness akin to that of a plant which
takes root and thrives upon finding a soil adapted to it, her love had
been developed by his strong, sunny nature.
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