Not that he
rebelled against it; it was worth the price that some day he expected
he must pay--the price of honour, wealth, a name disgraced, ruin, death.
Was he quixotic? Immoderately so? He smiled gravely. Perhaps. But he
would do it all over again if the choice were his. There were those who
blessed the name of the Gray Seal, as well as those who cursed it. And
there was the Tocsin!
Who was she? He did not know, but he knew that he had come to love her,
come to care for her, and that she had come to mean everything in life
to him. He had never seen her, to know her face. He had never seen her
face, but he knew her voice--ay, he had even held her for a moment, the
moment of wildest happiness he had ever known, in his arms. That night
when he had entered his library, his own particular den in his own
house, and in the darkness had found her there--found her finally
through no effort of his own, when he had searched so fruitlessly for
years to find her, using every resource at his command to find her! And
she, because she had come of her own volition, relying upon him, had
held him in honour to let her go as she had come--without looking upon
her face! Exquisite irony! But she had made him a promise then--that the
work of the Gray Seal was nearly over--that soon there would be an end
to the mystery that surrounded her--that he should know all--that he
should know HER.
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