But what would be the use of worrying Ursula? Gerard hated to make a woman uncomfortable. He had done it already, yesterday—after a full year’s hesitation. And she had taught him a lesson he would never forget. How greatly he had wronged this purest among women! Generous natures always own an immense debt of gratitude to those they have wronged.
“Gerard,” cried Ursula, “I have dropped a glove. I feel sure I came out with a pair.” She held up one for him to see. Gerard had a disastrous weakness for blurting out the very thing he wanted to keep back.
“Not unless you have been in the wood already,” he said, producing the missing article, which Ursula, of course, had dropped, not now, but the day before. Then he put it back. “I want you to let me keep this,” he added.
Her eyes grew troubled. “Oh, no—no,” she protested. “Give it back to me at once!”
“But it can have no real value for you. Whereas, for me”—his voice trembled with the memory of his terrible escape—“let me keep it,” he said.
“GERARD THRUST THE GLOVE INTO HIS POCKET”
Ursula knew not what to say or think. Slowly she dropped the remaining glove on the ground at her brother-in-law’s feet; slowly she raised her faithful eyes to the level of his own. In that moment, quite unexpectedly, as by a revelation, he saw how very beautiful she was. He stood before her dismayed, his heart full of yesterday’s conversation, of this morning’s experiences. “Ursula,” he stammered, “I—I am going to Acheen—at once!”
“I thank God,” she said, with solemn bitterness, and left him.