He had planned the excursion,
knowing how beautiful things in nature affected her, knowing exactly at
what point the moon would rise, precisely at what hour that mysterious
light would gleam upon the water, knowing the magic of the place and
counting upon it to supplement his acting where it lacked reality. It
had been clever of him to think it out so carefully, to plan each detail
so thoughtfully, to behave so naturally until his opportunity was all
prepared and ready for him. But for one little mistake, one moment's
forgetfulness of tact, the impression might have remained and grown in
distinctness until it would have secured the imprint of a strong reality
at the beginning of a new volume in her life, to which she could always
look back in the hereafter as to something true and sweet to be thought
of. But his tact had failed him at the critical and supreme moment when
he had got what he wanted and had not known how to keep it, even for an
hour. And his mistake had been followed by a strange accident which had
revealed to Beatrice the very core of a poor human heart that was
beating itself to death, in true earnest, for her sake.
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