A change came over him, subtile, but distinct. Slowly he raised his head, and then he put his arms about her and held her close, and gradually a comfort stole over him,—a comfort so delicious that he felt himself hardly worthy, because he now saw that all through the day he had had a subconsciousness that it would come to him at evening, and that he had somehow exaggerated his own grief in order to make this certain comfort the sweeter when it came.
It seemed to Marley, after he and Lavinia had sat there for a while, that he had come out of some nightmare; sanity returned, things assumed once more their proper proportions and relations to each other. He found himself smiling, if not laughing just yet, and with Lavinia’s hope and confidence the future opened to him once more. Now and then, of course, his disappointment would roll over him as a great wave, and once he said ruefully:
“But think of the little home we were going to have!”
“But we’re going to have it,” Lavinia replied, smiling on him, “we’re going to have it, just the same!”
“But we’ll have to wait!”
“Well, we’re young,” said Lavinia, “and it won’t be so very long.”
“But I wanted it to be in the spring.”
“May be it will be, who knows?” Lavinia could smile in this reassurance, now that she knew it could not be in the spring.
They discussed their future in all its phases, with the hope that Lavinia could so easily inspire in him; Marley was to keep on with his law studies; there was nothing else now to do—unless something should turn up—there was always that hope.
“And it will, you’ll see,” said Lavinia.