“And so did I, Jack: and thinking so, I found I loved thee better than ever. Fie on thee, now! May not a maid change her mind without being forced to such unseemly, brazen words?” And she heav’d a mock sigh.
But as I stood and held that little hand, I seem’d across the very mist of happiness to read a sentence written, and spoke it, perforce and slow, as with another man’s mouth—
“Delia, you only have I lov’d, and will love! Blithe would I be to live with you, and to serve you would blithely die. In sorrow, then, call for me, or in trust abide me. But go with you now—I may not.”
She lifted her eyes, and looking full into mine, repeated slowly the verse we had read at our first meeting—
“‘In a wife’s lap, as in a grave, Man’s airy notions mix with earth—’ —thou hast found it, sweetheart—thou has found the Splendid Spur!”
She broke off, and clapp’d her hands together very merrily; and then, as a tear started—
“But thou’lt come for me, ere long, Jack? Else I am sure to blame some other woman. Stay—”
She drew off her ring, and slipp’d it on my little finger.
“There’s my token! Now give me one to weep and be glad over.”
Having no trinkets, I gave my glove: and she kiss’d it twice, and put it in her bosom.