Arctura signed at length a prayer for release, and he set her gently down in her chair again. Then he saw her face more beautiful than ever before; and the rose that bloomed there was the rose of a health deeper than sickness. These children of God were of the blessed few who love the more that they know him present, whose souls are naked before him, and not ashamed. Let him that hears understand! if he understand not, let him hold his peace, and it will be his wisdom! He who has no place for this love in his religion, who thinks to be more holy without it, is not of God’s mind when he said, “Let us make man!” He may be a saint, but he cannot be a man after God’s own heart. The finished man is the saved man. The saint may have to be saved from more than sin.
“When shall we be married?” asked Donal.
“Soon, soon,” answered Arctura.
“To-morrow then?”
“No, not to-morrow: there is no such haste—now that we understand each other,” she added with a rosy smile. “I want to be married to you before I die, that is all—not just to-morrow, or the next day.”
“When you please, my love,” said Donal.
She laid her head on his bosom.
“We are as good as married now,” she said: “we know that each loves the other! How I shall wait for you! You will be mine, you know—a little bit mine—won’t you?—even if you should marry some beautiful lady after I am gone?—I shall love her when she comes.”
“Arctura!” said Donal.