Calvert stood near the open
door as if departing. Maggie stood between him and the window, her
face in shadow, her hands clasped tightly behind her. A profound
sadness, partly of the dying day and waning light, and partly of
some vague expiration of their own sorrow, seemed to encompass
them. Without knowing why, a strange trembling took the place of
James Culpepper's fierce determination, and a film of moisture
stole across his staring eyes.
"When I tell you that I believe all this will pass, and that you
will still win your brother back to you," said Calvert's sad but
clear voice, "I will tell you why--although, perhaps, it is only a
part of that confidence you command me to withhold. When I first
saw you, I myself had fallen into like dissolute habits; less
excusable than he, for I had some experience of the world and its
follies. When I met YOU, and fell under the influence of your
pure, simple, and healthy life; when I saw that isolation,
monotony, misunderstanding, even the sense of superiority to one's
surroundings could be lived down and triumphed over, without vulgar
distractions or pitiful ambitions; when I learned to love you--hear
me out, Miss Culpepper, I beg you--you saved ME--I, who was nothing
to you, even as I honestly believe you will still save your
brother, whom you love."
"How do you know I didn't RUIN him?" she said, turning upon him
bitterly.
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