It was a love worth having, she thought to herself; a love to be proud of!
“But Frithiof,” she began, after a timeless pause, “we must keep our secret just for a little while. You see my father is not here, and—”
“Let me write to him and ask his consent,” exclaimed Frithiof.
“No, no, do not write. Come over to England in October and see him yourself, that will be so much better.”
“Must we wait so long?” said Frithiof, his face clouding.
“It is only a few weeks; papa will not be at home till then. Every one is away from London, you know. Don’t look so anxious; I do not know your face when it isn’t happy—you were never meant to be grave. As for papa, I can make him do exactly what I like, you need not be afraid that he will not consent. Come! I have promised to trust to you, and yet you doubt me.”
“Doubt you!” he cried. “Never! I trust you, before all the world; and if you tell me to wait—why then—I must obey.”
“How I love you for saying that,” cried Blanche, clinging to him. “To think that you who are so strong should say that to me! It seems wonderful. But indeed, indeed, you need not doubt me. I love you with my whole heart. I love you as I never thought it possible to love.”
Frithiof again clasped her in his arms, and there came to his mind the sweet words of Uhland:
“Gestorben war ich