“No, he is an idle man. I dare say the time will come when I shall be plagued with him, and be almost obliged to suggest that he should keep race-horses, or go on the Stock Exchange, to occupy his time. I have heard women say that it is terrible to have a stay-at-home husband. Yet Martin is never de trop—but then Martin can bury himself in a book. He has no fidgety ways.”
“How lightly you talk, Allegra.”
“Perhaps that is because my heart is heavy—heavy, not with grief and care, but with the burden of perplexity and surprise, with the fear that comes of a great joy.”
“You do love him, then?” said Isola, earnestly. “You are glad.”
“I am very glad. I am glad with all my heart.”
“God bless you, dearest! I rejoice in your happiness.”
They kissed again, this time with tears on both sides; for Allegra was now quite overcome, and sobbed out her emotion upon her sister’s neck; they two standing clasped in each other’s arms beside the river.
“When I am dead, Allegra, remember always that I loved you, and that I rejoiced in your happiness as if it were my own.”
“When you are dead! How dare you talk like that, when we are taking you away to get well and strong, and to live ever so many years beyond your golden wedding? Was there ever such ingratitude?”
The odour of tobacco stole on the evening air, and they heard Martin’s firm tread approaching along the gravel path.