"
He moved nearer to the edge of the cliff, and we sat down, almost over
the restless sea beneath us.
"She lives in my memory," he continued, speaking more to himself than
to me, and looking far out to the horizon, beneath which the setting
sun had begun to sink, "in spite of all I can do or think of to make
her appear base in my eyes. For she left me to go with another man--a
scoundrel. This was how it was," he added, quickly: "I married her, and
thought her as pure as a flower; but I could not take her to sea with
me because I was only the mate of a vessel, so I left her among her
own friends, in the village where she was born. In a little cottage by
herself I settled her, comfortable and happy as I thought. God! how
she hung round my neck and sobbed when I went away the first time!
and yet--yet--within a year she left me." And he stopped for several
minutes, resting his head upon his hands. "At first I could get no trace
of her," he resumed. "Her friends knew nothing more of her than that
she had left the village suddenly. Gradually I found out the name of the
scoundrel who had seduced her away.
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