“Yes, I am sorry. We have been so very, very happy here. Randolph, is it very foolish? Sometimes I feel as if such happiness were too great for this world—as if it could not go on always so. It seems almost too beautiful, too perfect. Do you ever feel the same?”
“I know what you mean, sweet wife. Yet I am not afraid of our happiness or of the future. It is love that brings the brightness with it, and I think nothing now can change our love.”
“Ah, no, no!” she cried impetuously; “nothing can change that. You always understand. Randolph, you are so strong, so good, so patient. Ah! what should I do without you now?”
“You have not got to do without me, Monica. A husband cannot be set aside by anyone or anything. You must not let nervous fears get the better of you. Tell me, is anything troubling you to-night?”
“No, no; only that the old feeling will sometimes come back. It is foolish, I know; but I cannot quite rid myself of it.”
“The old feeling?”
“Yes, that some trouble is coming upon me—upon us. I cannot explain; but I feel it sometimes—I feel as if it were coming nearer.”
He did not laugh at her fears. He only said very gently and tenderly:
“I pray God, my sweet wife, that trouble may be very far away from you; yet if it comes, I know it will be bravely, nobly borne, and that the furnace of sorrow will only bring out the gold more bright and pure than ever.”