“Do you know what it is to feel so happy that it seems as if it could not last?”
“Yes,” he said, bending lower over her; “I have felt so ever since the day when you consented to be my little wife, and still it lasts.”
The piano was again going softly, and for the third time Gertrude sang, in a voice that lulled the old gentleman off to sleep, “Love’s young dream.”
“Let it be always ‘Love’s young dream,’” whispered Huish, as he sank down on one knee beside the music-stool. “Gertrude, darling, I am so happy that it is like being in a dream, one from which we will never let the world wake us with its troubles.”
She let her head rest upon his shoulder, and her arm was thrown tightly round his neck.
“Yes,” she whispered; “let us dream.”
“Yes,” he replied, “we two always. I can feel that here within these arms I hold all the world—that heaven has been so bounteous to me that I can never be sufficiently grateful, and—”
He rose quickly, for there was a step outside, and a servant entered.
“If you please, sir, there are two gentlemen want to see you downstairs.”
Huish turned pale, for a strange sense of coming trouble flashed upon him.