"Yes. You would not have me quite forget Della, would you?" he asked, doubtfully.
"O, no, but I would remember her with you. I would stand here by her grave with you, and offer up my prayers with yours that she may look down upon us in love and blessing. I would not seek to drive her memory from your heart. I do not consider that I have usurped her place. I would have a place alongside of hers—if I am worthy, Philip." She added the last words in a whisper, and doubtingly.
For the first time Philip perceived what a treasure he had won, and how worthy a successor to his first love. He looked down in her tearful eyes lovingly.
"Della in heaven and Emily on earth—as one I love you," he said, fervently.
On the following day Philip took his bride out to view the wonders of the city. They invited Miss Toothaker to accompany them, but were by no means regretful that she declined. They little dreamed what was going on in their absence. Suffice to say, when, after a few days of rest, they began to make ready for departure, their "assistant" displayed not her accustomed zeal and alacrity. This was accounted for on the last morning of their stay.
Without warning or preliminaries, immediately after prayers, in fact, upon rising from his knees, Dr. Adams walked up to the blushing Miss Toothaker, and taking her happy hand, led her to the far end of the room, placing himself and her in position.
"Before you leave, Mr. St. Leger, you will, if you please, do us the favor"—(bowing low and smiling mellifluously) "you see how it is, sir, and what we wish of you." The Doctor stammered, and was bashful, although such a veteran in the service.
The bride elect held her head very erect; the red spots in her cheeks glowed like double peonies; her two thin curls, done in oil for the occasion, hung straight and stiff like pendant icicles nigrescent; her sparkling black eyes looked apparently into vacuity, while they were really beholding the acme of all her hopes. She was thinking in that supreme moment of her life how very providential it was that she had thrown overboard Mr. Freeman Clarke. Whether he was picked up or whether the sharks devoured him, it occurred not to her to care. That she was about to become the fourth wife of the Rev. Dr. Adams, foreign missionary at the Capitol city of Turkey, was sufficient glory; she could have afforded to quench the hopes, and tread upon the hearts of a dozen such as that itinerant preacher. She had reserved herself for a grand calling, her life would be written in a book, and her name too, along with the Judsons, the Newells, the Deans, would inspire Sunday school scholars with zeal for missionary life unto the end of time.
But we are keeping them waiting.
Philip, always master of the situation, choked down his indignation and spoke the words, "for better—for worse." His prayer was brief and dry, without one bit of heart or spirit, but maybe it answered the purpose.