“But are you glad—are you glad?” persisted the unreasonable man.
“Yes, glad,” whispered Rosalie; and in proof of her truth the tears rolled quietly down her face.
“And so am I! Glad, happy, hopeful, confident, Rosalie! There will be no more faltering, and fainting, and failing now! You have infused new life into me. That any gossamer girl should have the power to do this! Yet such is the case, Rosalie.”
“Am I such a gossamer?”
“You are very fragile, Rosalie.”
“‘Out of the heart are the issues of life.’”
They were interrupted, of course; people always are when they are very blessed. It does not suit “the rest of mankind” to leave them so. This time it was old Colonel Ashley, who really was happy enough in himself to have left Mark and Rosalie alone in their content, if he had known it. He came in with a brisk step, with his slight figure seeming slighter, his grey hair lighter, and his thin, rosy face fiercer than ever, with the effervescence of his joy. He advanced, speaking—
“Ah, Mr. Sutherland, you are here! I have been looking for you. What! will you be the last to pay your respects to the bride, and she a relative—though a very distant one, I suppose, of your own? Come, let me present you.”
“Does India—does Mrs. Ashley expect me?” inquired Mr. Sutherland.
“I imagine not!” replied the old gentleman, raising his eyebrows; “but that does not matter, you know. Come!”