Already, he had proved his devotion,
and that abundantly, his unswerving fidelity to her, and the
force within him that made these worthy in some measure of her.
Garson felt no least pang of jealousy. Though he loved the woman
with the single love of his life, he had never, somehow, hoped
aught for himself. There was even something almost of the
paternal in the purity of his love, as if, indeed, by the fact of
restoring her to life he had taken on himself the responsibility
of a parent. He knew that the boy worshiped her, would do his
best for her, that this best would suffice for her happiness in
time. Garson, with the instinct of love, guessed that Mary had
in truth given her heart all unaware to the husband whom she had
first lured only for the lust of revenge. Garson nodded his head
in a melancholy satisfaction. His life was done: hers was just
beginning, now.... But she would remember him --oh, yes, always!
Mary was loyal.
The man checked the trend of his thoughts by a mighty effort of
will. He must not grow maudlin here.
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