The next moment her arms closed about me.
“David, I can’t bear to see you unhappy; that’s all.”
As I look back on this conversation, I am the more amazed. Where did she get such uncanny insight into my thoughts? What had not her child’s eyes divined?—if they had ever been the eyes of a child! I suppose my irritation arose from the fact that she had come too close to my own misgivings. No, I am not quite sure that I have been honest with Anne, even when I assured myself that I was. Before I leave I shall see Anne again. To-night, I know what I shall say: but I am not sure what it will be at the time.
IX
New York
I am here with Ben at the hotel and at noon, day after to-morrow, we sail for France. To me, as to him, it is an escape from a hideous situation. All day I have tramped the streets, seeking in the crowds a glimpse of Bernoline. Twice I came to the steps of St. Rosa’s Convent,—tempted. If I had any doubt as to the lasting wound that is in my heart, I know now. To be in this city, where she walks hidden in the wilderness of human beings, where at every turn I look for her! There is nothing here for me—nothing! I want to get back to the other life—to be from morning to night a pawn in the fingers of fate—to have every decision made for me—to surrender my initiative—to accept what can’t be changed—to perform without question.
* * * * *
But to go back. The leave-taking was hard, the shadow was over it all. If I come back—and who knows?—one place will be empty. But first, Anne.