Had life been kinder, he would have crossed the space between them in one step, and folded her in such an embrace as would have lost her slim form entirely in his enfolding bigness. He would have given her a love, and a lover, such as falls to the lot of but few women.
And she stood there, with her head half turned away; with sad eyes and drooping lips that went to his heart; her mind full of her dead friend, and scarcely a glance for him.
“She said I was not to blame you for anything, and she told me to give you her dear, dear love.”
He winced visibly, but stood his ground.
“Thank you,” he said, in a very low voice.
Then, with a sudden, longing triumphing over all:
“I prefer to take the blame upon myself, but even then I hope some day you will find it possible to forgive me.”
“I shall never forget how much Lorraine loved you,” was all the poor hope she gave him.
“Will that make it possible for us to remain friends?”
“Yes; I hope so.” She gave him her hand with an old-fashioned solemnity. “For Lorraine’s sake,” she said very simply, and then left him.