“No,” said he, enfolding her in his arms with a solemn smile. “The great gift which I hold is the fruit of that past, perhaps; I cannot wish it changed.”
“But the sense of obligation never fulfilled, would you not be happier if that were removed?”
“Perhaps,” he said, “but it cannot be now. I shall have to live without being perfectly happy.”
She lifted her face and her smile shone like a star. “Oh God is good,” she cried, “you shall not lack being perfectly happy;” and taking a little paper out of her pocket she put it in his hand. “We found that hidden in Jacqueline Japha’s breast, when we went to lay her out for burial.”
It was only a line; but it made Mr. Sylvester’s brow flush and his voice tremble.
“Whatever I own, and I have been told that I am far from penniless, I desire to have given to the dear and disinterested girl that first told me of Margery Hamlin’s vigil.”
“Paula, Paula, Paula, thou art indeed my good gift! May God make me worthy of your love and of this His last and most unexpected mercy!”
And the look which crossed her face, was that sweet and unearthly radiance which speaks of perfect peace.