But I could understand why.

It was because of Sally Langdon, the gay and roguish girl who had bewitched me, the girl whom love had made a woman--the kind of woman meant to make life beautiful for me.
I saw her changing through all those weeks, holding many of the old traits and graces, acquiring new character of mind and body, to become what I had just fled from--a woman sweet, fair, loyal, loving, passionate.
Temptation assailed me.

To have her to-morrow--my wife! She had said it.
Just twenty-four little hours, and she would be mine--the only woman I had ever really coveted, the only one who had ever found the good in me.
The thought was alluring.

I followed it out, a long, happy stage-ride back to Austin, and then by train to her home where, as she had said, the oranges grew and the trees waved with streamers of gray moss and the mocking-birds made melody.

I pictured that home.