“Fate disclosed his trickery to the woman. He read his punishment in the contempt in her [Pg 310]eyes. He deserved it, every bit of it. But it hurt none the less.”
“And—and then what happened?” she asked, trembling.
“He went away,” said Peter. “First he made a sacrifice—a small funeral pyre on which he burnt her letters, and I fancy his heart.”
“Did he do nothing else?” she demanded.
“Oh, yes,” confessed Peter. “He wrote to her. It was the least he could do. He prayed her forgiveness.”
“And—?” she queried.
Again Peter drew a deep breath. “After that there were months of a greater loneliness. I fancy he tried to be brave, to be worthy of her memory. She was, you see, his star.”
“Did—did he not condemn her for her harshness?” asked Lady Anne.
“Never,” cried Peter hotly. “She was to him his goddess, his divinity.” He stopped.
“Is that all?” she asked.