But I don't believe a human being ever
existed who had no way at all. Delarey's way was different from your
way, so different that, now you know the truth of him, perhaps you
can't believe he ever loved you. But he did. He was young, and he was
hot-blooded--he was really of the South. And the sun got hold of him.
And he betrayed you. But he repented. That last day he was stricken,
not by physical fear, but by a tremendous shame at what he had done to
you, and perhaps, also, by fear lest you should ever know it. I sat
with him by the wall, and I felt without at all fully understanding it
the drama in his soul. But now I understand it. I'm sure I understand
it. And I think the depth of a shame is very often the exact measure
of the depth of a love. Perhaps, indeed, there is no more exact
measure."
Again he thought of the episode with Vere, and of his determination
always from henceforth to be absolutely sincere with himself and with
those whom he really loved.
"I am sure there is no more exact measure.
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