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Chapter 8

           

           ThemomentNicholastookherhandshecouldnolongerrestrainherselfandbegantocry.

           “Nicholas,Isawit...hewastoblame,butwhydoyou...Nicholas!”andshecoveredherfacewithherhands.

           Nicholassaidnothing.Heflushedcrimson,leftherside,andpacedupanddowntheroom.Heunderstoodwhatshewasweepingabout,butcouldnotinhisheartatonceagreewithherthatwhathehadregardedfromchildhoodasquiteaneverydayeventwaswrong.“Isitjustsentimentality,oldwives’tales,orissheright?”heaskedhimself.Beforehehadsolvedthatpointheglancedagainatherfacefilledwithloveandpain,andhesuddenlyrealizedthatshewasrightandthathehadlongbeensinningagainsthimself.

           “Mary,”hesaidsoftly,goinguptoher,“itwillneverhappenagain;Igiveyoumyword.Never,”herepeatedinatremblingvoicelikeaboyaskingforforgiveness.

           Thetearsflowedfasterstillfromthecountess’eyes.Shetookhishandandkissedit.

           “Nicholas,whendidyoubreakyourcameo?”sheaskedtochangethesubject,lookingathisfingeronwhichheworearingwithacameoofLaocoön’shead.

           “Today—itwasthesameaffair.Oh,Mary,don’tremindmeofit!”andagainheflushed.“Igiveyoumywordofhonoritshan’toccuragain,andletthisalwaysbearemindertome,”andhepointedtothebrokenring.

           Afterthat,whenindiscussionswithhisvillageeldersorstewardsthebloodrushedtohisfaceandhisfistsbegantoclench,Nicholaswouldturnthebrokenringonhisfingerandwoulddrophiseyesbeforethemanwhowasmakinghimangry.

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