“The tears I made you shed, bleached them, Kate.”
She did not reply, except by meeting his gaze with a look of earnest affection.
He resumed—
“Yes—even then, when insanely I believed it possible for you to be guilty—even then—every look of anguish on your brow wrung my bosom—every tear you dropped, fell hot upon my heart. Stoop down. Let me tell you one little simple thing—I sometimes saw—oh, I used to watch you so closely, because I could not help it, Kate;—when I was harsh and stern, I sometimes saw your chin quiver—like a grieved child’s—and, Kate, my whole soul would be overflowed with tenderness, which, to conceal, I had to start up and leave the room, with every appearance of anger that I could falsely assume.”
Kate wept—her tears fell fast upon his hand, that she had clasped between her own.
“And, oh, Catherine, to think that all this trouble I have suffered, and have inflicted upon you, should have been so unnecessary!”
Catherine slid from the edge of the couch down upon her knees beside it, and her countenance grew earnest, and inspired with faith and love, as she clasped her hands, and said—
“Oh, no! it was not unnecessary. God suffered it to be, and it was well—very well! ‘All things work together for good, to them that love the Lord.’ And every pang that has ploughed our hearts in the past, will make them fruitful of good in the future. One fruit is, that the suffering of the last two years has drawn our hearts together as nothing else could have done. Because—”
Again in the full tide of her earnest thoughts, the old bashfulness flushed her cheek, and silenced her tongue. She wished to say, “Because I think you would never have known me so well, or held me so dear, if you had not proved me by fiery trial.”
And again his heart rightly interpreted her silence, and he answered her unuttered thought by saying—