. . . I'm wise. I'm happy for him--the
lucky dog. Next time you go West--"
"Hush!" cried Carley. She could endure no more. She could no longer be a
lie.
"You're white--you're shaking," exclaimed Rust, in concern. "Oh, I--what
did I say? Forgive me--"
"Rust, I am no more worth loving and fighting for than your Nell."
"What!" he ejaculated.
"I have not told you the truth," she said, swiftly. "I have let you believe
a lie. . . . I shall never marry Glenn. I broke my engagement to him."
Slowly Rust sank back upon the pillow, his large luminous eyes piercingly
fixed upon her, as if he would read her soul.
"I went West--yes--" continued Carley. "But it was selfishly. I wanted
Glenn to come back here. . . . He had suffered as you have. He nearly died.
But he fought--he fought--Oh! he went through hell! And after a long, slow,
horrible struggle he began to mend. He worked. He went to raising hogs. He
lived alone. He worked harder and harder. . . . The West and his work saved
him, body and soul . . . . He had learned to love both the West and his
work. I did not blame him. But I could not live out there. He needed me.
But I was too little--too selfish. I could not marry him.
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