Moreover (which one does not think of then), that parental blunders and
injustices are the mistakes and tyrannies of a special love that one may
go many a mile on one's own wilful way and not meet a second time.
Who--in the wide world--would care to be bothered with my confidence,
and blame me for withholding it? Should I meet many people to whom it
would matter if we misunderstood each other? Would anybody hereafter
love me well enough to be disappointed in me? Would other men care so
much for my fate as to insist on guiding it by lines of their own
ruling?
I pressed the gloves passionately against my eyes to keep in the tears.
If my day-dreams had been the only question, I should have changed my
mind now. If the home grievances had been all, I should have waited for
time and patience to mend them. I could not have broken all these
heart-strings. I should never have run away. But there was much more,
and my convictions were not changed, though I felt as if I might have
managed better as regards my father.
Would he forgive me? I hoped and believed so. Would my mother forgive
me? I knew she would--as GOD forgives.
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