They sat together until sunrise, and Margaret fell asleep in her lover's arms. Lives there the man who has not enjoyed some such heavenly minutes as these? Philip tasted then the most perfect happiness in his life.
When the sun rose, the storm cleared away. Margaret awoke, and sighed and blushed, and looked tenderly at Philip, and Mr. Hart found something so interesting at his window that he was compelled to keep his back to them. They forgave the rudeness; and presently came also to the window, and looked out upon a glorious sight. The skies were glowing with grand colour. Broad masses of golden light fringed with purple, which changed gradually to crimson, rose from the dip of the horizon. Brightly shone the sun in its bed; the sky was dotted with feather-clouds of rosy red in the east, and fairy islands of the loveliest shades of blue, flecked with white, moved towards them from the west. Raindrops seemed to hang, like glistening eyes, between cloud and land; the heavens laughed; all was sweet, and fresh, and beautiful.
So, in another land, which lay beneath them, and on another morning, when summer was waning, the old man shall stand, after a strange and eventful night, gazing on the sunrise with grateful eyes and grateful heart, embracing her who is dearer to him than his heart's blood.
"This is like the dawn of life, my sweet!" whispered Philip to Margaret.
"Of our life, Philip," she whispered.
Mr. Hart heard them.
"A happy dawn," he prayed. "May it bring a happy day!"
But prayers could not avert what was soon to come.