"If I've been unkind to her,
if I've been wrong, have I not suffered?"
He had not gone far before his strength began to fail. He was forced to sit
down and rest. It was near sundown when he reached the clearing.
"At last!" he said gratefully, with his old triumphant habit of carrying out
whatever he undertook. He had put out all his strength to get there.
He passed the nearest field--the peach trees--the garden--and took the path
toward the house.
"Where shall I find her?" he thought. "Where can I see her alone?"
"Between him and the house stood a building of logs and plaster. It was a
single room used for the spinning and the weaving of which she had charge.
Many a time he had lain on the great oaken chest into which the homespun
cloth was stored while she sat by her spinning-wheel; many a talk they had
had there together, many a parting; and many a Saturday twilight he had put
his arms around her there and turned away for his lonely walk to town,
planning their future. "If she should only be in the weaving-room!"
He stepped softly to the door and looked in. She was there-- standing near
the middle of the room with her face turned from him.
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