‘Love, if you knew the light
That your soul casts in my sight,
How I look to you
For the good and true.
And the beauteous and the right,
Bear with a moment’s spite
When a mere mote threats the white.’
A great tear splashed down upon it. Dot wiped it off with a hasty hand, she was angry because the coldness and bitterness around her heart were melting. But two more fell, and two again, a host of little sweet recollections [p 142] ]of their married and unmarried life came thronging unbidden. How could she bear life if on every hand episodes of the dead days were going to rise up in this way?
Dear tender eyes watched her from the corner.
‘He looked ill, my darling,—as if he had not slept or eaten for a week,—I saw him at the station—’ the soft voice paused for a minute.