"
"Well, I didn't get the last one, announcing, evidently, the death of
your husband, and most likely others went astray; but I did get some.
I--er--read them aloud to Winapie as a warning--that is, you know, to
impress upon her the wickedness of her white sisters. And I--er--think
she profited by it. Don't you?"
She disregarded the sting, and went on. "In the last letter, which you
did not receive, I told, as you have guessed, of Colonel Sayther's death.
That was a year ago. I also said that if you did not come out to me, I
would go in to you. And as I had often promised, I came."
"I know of no promise."
"In the earlier letters?"
"Yes, you promised, but as I neither asked nor answered, it was
unratified. So I do not know of any such promise. But I do know of
another, which you, too, may remember. It was very long ago." He
dropped the axe-handle to the floor and raised his head. "It was so very
long ago, yet I remember it distinctly, the day, the time, every detail.
We were in a rose garden, you and I,--your mother's rose garden. All
things were budding, blossoming, and the sap of spring was in our blood.
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