“I glory in the wind,” cried Harold, tossing back his head, and shaking his wavy hair, something lion-like. “It makes me strong and bold. I love to meet it, to wrestle with it; to feel myself in spirit and in frame, stern to resist, daring to achieve, as a man should feel!”
And on her part, Olive with her clinging sweetness, her upward gaze, was a type of true woman.
“I think,” Harold continued, “that there is a full rich life before me yet. I will go forth and rejoice therein; and if misfortune come, I will meet it—thus!”
He planted his foot firmly on the ground, lifted his proud head, and looked out fearlessly with his majestic eyes.
“And I,” said Olive, “thus.”
She stole her two little cold hands under his plaid, laid her head upon them, close to his heart, and, smiling, nestled there.
And the loud fierce wind swept by, but it harmed not them, thus warm and safe in love. So they stood, true man and woman, husband and wife, ready to go through the world without fear, trusting in each other, and looking up to Heaven to guide their way.
THE END.