It was the note in which the sheriff on the
night of the train robbery had written his prediction of how the
matter would come out. She was to open the envelope in a month,
and the month was up to-night.
As she tore open the flap it came to her with one of her little
flashing smiles that she could never have guessed under what
circumstances she would read it. By the dim flame of a guttering
candle, in a cotton nightgown borrowed from a Mexican menial, a
prisoner of the very man who had robbed her and the recipient of
a practical confession of love from him not three hours earlier!
Surely here was a situation to beggar romance. But before she had
finished reading the reality was still more unbelievable.
I have just met for the first time the woman I am going to marry
if God is good to one. I am writing this because I want her to
know it as soon as I decently can. Of course, I am not worthy of
her, but then I don't know any man that is.
So the fact goes--I'm bound to marry her if there's nobody else
in the way. This isn't conceit. It is a deep-seated certainty I
can't get away from, and don't want to.
Pages:
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325