him to take that road. Perhaps he had chosen it simply because it was a mile or two shorter.
In time, we forgive even those whom we have injured. His proud heart felt a pang as he passed the little garden wicket, where Eleanor, in the first bloom of her fresh loveliness and love had so often stood watching his arrival and departure. The lonely look of the big dwelling also touched him. He slackened his rein, and rode onward, full of regretful thoughts. At a sudden turning a few yards before him he saw a woman approaching. Her head was dropped, she was dressed in black, in the chill winter twilight she had an inexpressible air of pathetic and yet proud sadness.
Oh, how well he knew her! It was his Eleanor, his wife! The woman still tenderly beloved. A perfect tempest was in his heart. If he had been strong enough, he would have lifted her to his saddle, and carried her back to his home. He could not determine whether to stop and speak to her, or to pass her by unless she spoke to him, and while he was trying to decide, he found himself close to her.
Then Eleanor looked up and recognized the proud, handsome face gazing so intently into
