The miner looked at the letter in his hand, and a tinge of blood crept into his white cheeks, then ebbed, leaving them whiter than before.
Suppose there were other men who wanted her; men with money, learning, wit and influence. Was this bitterest of blows to fall upon him when he was already down? He looked at his hands, green from loss of blood. “I tried,” he muttered, “I tried.”
Still the very touch of the paper seemed to have something warm and heartening in it. It was from her, anyhow. With sudden strength he tore it open and read:
Dearest, Dearest Jim—I yield the whole case. You are right.
It is to my shame that clear-sightedness came from no source within me, but from a brave example set.
My little cousin married the man she loved last week, and, of course, Miss Anne was a high functionary.
Oh, what a stirring there was in me, Jim, watching them and thinking of you!
They will be as poor as church mice, but they do not care, and theirs is the wise economy.
Life is too short to waste, Jim, I see it now. I put it all in your hands, dearest; if you can not come to me, I shall come to you.
I believe I’m only lukewarm by habit, not by nature.