The question arose within him, “Ought he not to tell him of the change in the relations which existed between Editha and himself, and if there was the shadow of a possibility of his winning her love, ought he not to allow him to put it to the test?”
One day he sought him, with a pale, worn face.
He had conquered a mighty foe—himself.
He remembered that Editha had once told him, when speaking of her refusal of Mr. Tressalia’s offer of marriage, that “she had never suffered more at the thought of giving pain than she did in refusing him.”
Some one has written, “Pity melts the mind to love,” and perchance, out of her sympathy for him, something of affection might arise, and a life of quiet happiness be gained for her as well as for his cousin.
“Paul, I have something of importance to communicate to you,” he said, coming to the point at once.
“Say on, then; are you in trouble? Can I do anything for you?” Mr. Tressalia asked, with an anxious glance into the worn face.
“No, there is nothing that you or any one else can do for me; it is to give you a chance in the race after happiness that I come to you,” Earle answered, with something of bitterness in his tone.
“I do not understand you,” he returned, a flush rising to his cheek.
“Do you still love Editha Dalton?” Earle asked, setting his teeth to keep back a rebellious groan.