He bore it like a man upon whom emotion has spent all its force; only, when I had finished, he gave one groan, and then, as if he feared I would mistake the meaning of this evidence of suffering, he made haste to exclaim:
"Poor Honora! My heart owes her one cry of pity, one tear of grief. I shall never weep for any one else; though, if I could, it would be for myself and the wasted years with which I have mocked God's providence."
Relieved to find him in this mood, I rose and shook his hand cordially.
"You will come back to Albany with me?" I entreated. "We have need of you, and this spot will never be a home to you again."
"Never!"
The echo was unexpected, but welcome. I led the way out of the cave.
"See! it is late," I urged.
He shook his head and cast one prolonged look around him.
"What do I not leave behind me here? Love, grief, dreams. And to what do I go forward? Can you tell me? Has the future in it anything for a man like me?"
"It has vengeance!"