Then it must depend
upon himself whether she ever became his own "bright particular star."
So much she felt she had a right to do, and no conventional hesitation
as to her course stood in her way. Her love had become the governing
impulse of her life, and its dictates were imperative until they
trenched upon her sensitive, womanly pride. Then they were met as the
rock meets the tide. She did not care what the world might think: it
should never have occasion to think at all. Her secret was between
herself and God. Graydon himself should never know it unless his name
became hers.
How vividly her old haunts recalled him! There was the lounge on which
he used to toss the "little wraith" after having carried her around
in the semblance of a waltz. The sofa on which had taken place their
strange parting still stood as of old in her room. There her head
had sunk in unconsciousness upon his breast, the result of her vain,
feeble struggle to escape from caresses so natural to him, but no
longer to be received by her.
What way-marks in life mute, commonplace things become in the light
of memory! To her vivid fancy Graydon was again present in all the
positions now made memorable by deep affection.
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