"No, no; you do love me. I believe it. But you know what a morbid, suspicious character mine is."
"I had hoped—"
She did not finish her sentence, but sat twisting the links of her chatelaine about her fingers, and looking almost timidly away from his face.
"Go on," he said, "what did you hope?"
"That this long absence might have—that—I hardly know how to say it without offending you."
"You hoped I had learned to accept life more like a reasonable being, isn't that it? I think I have, Bessie; we will be happy now, very happy; you and Elsie and I."
He took her hand and held it in his own; was it true that it trembled, or only his fancy that made him think so?
"We shall be happy, Elizabeth?" he repeated, this time making the words an inquiry.
"I hope so—oh, I do hope so!" she exclaimed with sudden passion; "I want to be happy, oh, my husband! I want to be happy."
She threw her arms about his neck, and her head dropped on his shoulder; but the face which he could not see wore a strained, frightened look, as if she saw some dark shadow rise between her and its fulfilment.