"I am longing to see you safe, my darling," dropping her teasing tone, and speaking with sudden agitation.
"Am I not safe with you?" lifting her head, and looking tenderly into the delicate face above her.
"But I am not strong, sweet, and I may be called suddenly from you some day, and it is not good for girls to be alone. It will be comforting to leave you in such hands. He is noble, he is good, and will love you faithfully. Ah, Madeline, he is strong and firm; he will rule my wilful girl."
"I should not love him if I could rule him," said Madeline, proudly.
Mrs. Capelle laughed and kissed her. "Tell me all about it," she said softly. They talked until the hand of the clock pointed to twelve, and only the barking of a dog or two pierced the silence resting upon the town.
"We have no secrets—no secrets from each other, have we, mama?" said Madeline with a happy laugh.
"No secrets, sweet? No, no; there should be no secrets between mother and child," said the elder woman; but her eyes fell; a paleness swept over her face. It was a swift, subtle change, unnoticed by the girl in the delicious absorption of her thoughts.
That was a winter to live in the memory of those lovers as long as they lived. Every one of the swiftly flying days seemed to have its own special joy, its own sweet experiences. When apart, there were long letters written out of the fullness of their hearts; when together, long talks, or delicious silences in which it seemed enough that they could be together.
And there were letters from his New England home to her, one from his mother, as sweet and gentle as her own mother could have written.
"She must be lovely, Roger," she said to him.