‘No, indeed.’
‘For instance, these two years have scarcely been a time of great happiness to you.’
‘Sometimes,’ whispered Laura, ‘sometimes beyond all words, but often dreary and oppressive.’
‘Heaven knows how unwillingly I have rendered it so. Rather than dim the brightness of your life, I would have repressed my own sentiments for ever.’
‘But, then, where would have been my brightness?’
‘I would, I say, but for a peril to you. I see my fears were unfounded. You were safe; but in my desire to guard you from what has come on poor Amy, my feelings, though not wont to overpower me, carried me further than I intended.’
‘Did they?’
‘Do not suppose I regret it. No, no, Laura; those were the most precious moments in my life, when I drew from you those words and looks which have been blessed in remembrance ever since; and doubly, knowing, as I do, that you also prize that day.’
‘Yes—yes;—’
‘In the midst of much that was adverse, and with a necessity for a trust and self-control of which scarce a woman but yourself would have been capable, you have endured nobly—’