You must think as kindly of me as you can and believe that I have endeavored to do what I thought right.
– Robert E. Lee
Andrea’s words were like a deathblow. She watched Hunter let his breath out in a long, pitiful sigh, and could tell he had finally let go of all hope. Even his eyes possessed a dull, far-away look to them.
After a few moments to regain his strength he spoke again. “I understand that I have no right to ask anything of you, Andrea, but your forgiveness I will seek before you leave here. Truly, I implore your pardon.”
Andrea forgave him at the moment and on the spot. There was such remorse in his eyes, such true despair in his tone, such manly compassion in his countenance she could do nothing less. She forgave him all down to the core of her heart, but she did not form the words. “I blame no one but myself and never have,” she said in an unemotional voice. “You are clear, sir, of all liability.”
A look of intense regret flashed across Hunter’s eyes, but he collected himself and spoke in an unemotional voice. “I brought a horse, in case you wished to leave tonight. I assume you would like to do that.”
Andrea nodded, her eyes closed tightly. Considerate to the core, generous to a fault, he had envisioned the possibility she would not want to spend the night. He was too chivalrous, too much a gentleman, to force her to do so.
“I-I have the highest regard for you and your wishes, and so will not seek you out again. But live or die, Andrea, my love for you will never end.”
Andrea heard the door close behind her as he went out to saddle the horse, and a fresh set of tears spilled down her cheeks. The pain that tore through her was like no other she had ever felt. But she had to send him away—had to get it over with—even if it was going to kill her.
After a few minutes, Andrea put her hand on the doorknob, drew a deep breath, and put her hood up against the cold night air. Hunter stood outside with the horse already saddled, staring at the sky, his face etched with pain.
Without words he handed her the reins. Then he pulled back her hood and held her face in tremulous hands, gazing at her as if trying to commit every feature to memory. “I am not the enemy, Andrea,” he said, brushing his lips gently against her cheek. “I will wait indefinitely for you to realize that, and will submit to any conditions you impose.”
Never had Andrea seen more devotion or affection as she glanced up at him. Never had she looked into eyes such as his and seen a noble soul so tortured by despair. She swallowed hard and blinked back tears as she turned to mount. Strong hands wrapped around her waist and lifted her effortlessly into the saddle.
Hunter put one restraining hand on the bridle and another on her leg as Andrea gathered the reins. “You do understand that I have surrendered to you—heart and soul—unconditionally and without hesitation, and swear on all that is dear to me that I will love you until the end of time.”
Andrea nodded, pretending to understand, pretending that she knew anything of the word. For a moment, just a moment, she thought about sliding off the horse, back into the comfort of his arms.
But the fear of being hurt again, of hurting him, was too great. She could not allow herself to be weak, for she could never bear the crushing weight of pain like this.
“Andrea, so help me God, with my last breath I will love you. Please …”
“Goodbye, Colonel.” Hunter let go of the bridle and Andrea urged the mare forward.
“I’m sorry, Alex.”
Her words went unheard. Colonel Hunter sank to his knees and heard nothing over the sobs that racked his body as darkness swallowed the woman he had hoped to never let out of his sight—or his arms—again.