In Allie love had worked magic. It had freed her from a horrible
black memory. She had been alone; she had wanted to die so as to
forget those awful yells and screams--the murder--the blood--the
terror and the anguish; she had nothing to want to live for; she had
almost hated those two kind men who tried so hard to make her
forget. Then suddenly, she never quite remembered when, she had seen
Neale with different eyes. A few words, a touch, a gift, and a
pledge--and life had been transformed for Allie Lee. Like a flower
blooming overnight, her heart had opened to love, and all the
distemper in her blood and all the blackness in her mind were
dispelled. The relief from pain and dread was so great that love
became a beautiful and all-absorbing passion. Freed then, and
strangely happy, she took to the life around her as naturally as if
she had been born there, and she grew like a wild flower. Neale
returned to her that autumn to make perfect the realization of her
dreams. When he went away she could still be happy. She owed it to
him to be perfect in joy, faith, love, and duty; and her adversity
had discovered to her an inward courage and an indomitable will. She
lived for Neale.
Summer, autumn, winter passed, short days full of solitude, beauty,
thought, and anticipation, and always achievement, for she could not
stay idle.
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