“I have no fear,” she continued; “my love was not given hastily, like that of some quickly dazzled girl; my love was slow to awaken; but when I felt that it was being sought by one whom I could reverence as well as love, I gave it freely—all I had.”
“And you are content?”
“I should be truly happy, but for the pain I must give others.”
“Only a pang, dear love; that will pass away in the feeling that their child is truly happy in her choice. There, there, the moonlight and the solemn look of the night have made you sad. Let us talk more cheerfully. Come, you must have something to ask of me?”
“No; you have told me everything,” she said gravely. “I wish they could have been here to give their blessing on our love.”
“Their blessing?” he said half-wonderingly.
“Your mother—your father, Robert,” she whispered reverently as she bent her head.
“Hush!” he said, and for a few moments they were silent. “But come,” he cried, as if trying to give their conversation a more cheerful turn, “you must have something more to ask of me. I mean for our house.”
“No,” she said; “it is everything I could wish.”
“No,” he said proudly, “it is too humble for my queen. If I were rich, you should have the fairest jewels, costly retinues—a palace.”