It is the only hope of my broken-heartedness, and a
rather faint one. Beyond it I have nothing. I have paid down this heavy
price, all that I am worth here and hereafter, and that is my sole
reward. With Leo it is different, and often and often I bitterly envy
him his happy lot, for if _She_ was right, and her wisdom and knowledge
did not fail her at the last, which, arguing from the precedent of her
own case, I think most unlikely, he has some future to look forward to.
But I have none, and yet--mark the folly and the weakness of the human
heart, and let him who is wise learn wisdom from it--yet I would not
have it otherwise. I mean that I am content to give what I have given
and must always give, and take in payment those crumbs that fall from
my mistress's table, the memory of a few kind words, the hope one day
in the far undreamed future of a sweet smile or two of recognition, a
little gentle friendship, and a little show of thanks for my devotion to
her--and Leo.
If that does not constitute true love, I do not know what does, and all
I have to say is that it is a very bad state of affairs for a man on the
wrong side of middle age to fall into.
Pages:
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552