She had seen what many a woman longs for but may never look upon. She
had seen a man, brave, strong, simple and true, with the death mark of
his love for her upon his face. What matter if he were but an unlettered
sailor, scarcely knowing what moved him nor the words he spoke? Beatrice
was a woman and, womanlike, she knew without proof or testimony that his
heart and hands were clean of the few sins which woman really despises
in man.
They are not many--be it said in honour of womanly generosity and
kindness--they are not many, those bad deeds which a woman cannot
forgive, and that she is right is truly shown in that those are the sins
which the most manly men despise in others. They are, I think,
cowardice, lying for selfish ends, betraying tales of woman's
weakness--almost the greatest of crimes--and, greatest of all,
faithlessness in love.
Let a man be brave, honest, discreet, faithful, and a woman will forgive
him all manner of evil actions, even to murder and bloodshed; but let
him flinch in danger, lie to save himself, tell the name of a woman
whose love for him has betrayed her, or break his faith to her without
boldly saying that he loves her no more, and she will not forgive him
while he lives, though she may give him a kindly thought and a few tears
when he is gone for ever.
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