The end found me curiously exalted. I felt as if I were breathing a fuller, more intoxicating air. It was to be Ira and I at last, each for the other, against all the world. That seemed to simplify the issues; to make my task a less complicated one. Ira and I, foot to foot, side to side, to run the race together, and win if we might, or, if we lost, to sink no less breathless to our reward in the grass by the roadside. I pictured it thus. I could believe in my dear love still, thank God!
The mood had not left me when I came down over the snow to the old hawthorn in Hags Lane, and found her there awaiting me. I took her worshipfully into my arms, as befitted a fragile figure of such price.
“Ira,” I said, “would you like to have me tell you everything at last?”
“O, Richard! will you?”
“Wait a minute. Let me feel your bones—these ribs are like a rabbit’s. I doubt if they could stand such a hammering.”
“Try them, Richard. Have you never read ‘Maud’? Don’t you remember the shell that a finger-nail could break, but that the cataract shock of the seas could not? Only an unloving word from you could break me, Richard.”
“You ineffable dear. I like to hear you quote like that; I like to see you capable of thinking of anything again but ghosts and shadows. Let us get the last of them out of the way—shall we? and prepare for the time when there shall never be a secret left between us.”
“O yes, yes!—if you please, my lord.”
“My lord, you Pythoness? Do you know what a prophetic word you have used?”
“How can I know anything when you have told me nothing?”