Then he knew it himself. A great
pity was in her heart. She was silent and constrained, and they walked
together as two who are walking toward a grave.
"It is very hard for me to say 'good-bye,' Miss Fontaine. I shall
never, never forget you."
"There are many hard things in life, Mr. North; we can but bear them."
"Is that all?"
"That is all."
"God help me!" He lifted her gloved hand and touched it with his lips.
No knight could have expressed in the act more respect, more hopeless
tenderness. Then he turned silently away. Phyllis's lips parted, but
no words would come. She was full of sorrow for the noble, suffering,
humble heart. She longed to say a kind word, and yet felt that it would
be unkind; and she stood still watching him as he went farther and
farther away. At a bend in the road he turned and saw her standing.
The level rays of the sun set her in a clear amber light. He gazed
at her steadily for a moment, raised his hand slowly, and passed
forever from her sight.
There was something so pathetic and yet so lofty in the slight,
vanishing figure, with the hand lifted heavenward, that she felt
strangely affected, and could scarcely restrain her tears.
When people come to the end of a pleasure, so many little things show
it. The first enthusiasms are gone, there is a little weariness in
joy, the heart begins to turn to those fundamental affections and those
homely ties which are the main reliance of life.
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