Berenice, who had been convalescing slowly and listlessly because her sad heart took but little interest in life, had changed in a night and day to a lovely, hopeful creature whose brown eyes glowed with love and joy, while her thin cheeks had put on the roses of nature under Charley’s fond, eager glance, that was to her like the sun shining upon a flower, unfolding it to glorious bloom.
The happy excitement had loaned her such fictitious strength that the nurse had permitted her to sit up in a chair for the wedding, and Mrs. Cline had gone to a shop and bought for her a simple white robe with white laces and ribbons to make it look bridelike.
Thus attired, and with her little hand in Charley’s she had murmured timidly, after the minister, the sweet words of the service that made her the sweetest and happiest of brides.
When it was all over they had all gone out quietly and left them alone for a blissful half hour.
Charley knelt down by his bonnie bride and clasped her to his heart.
“My queen!” he murmured, kissing her hands, her face and hair in an ecstasy of triumphant love.
She drooped against his breast, very tired, but very happy.
“Oh, I do not know how to realize my bliss!” she murmured. “I am really your wife, Charley, your own wife, and you are my husband! Ah, it does not seem possible! I loved you in vain so long, I almost fear I am dreaming.”
“It is no dream, but the sweetest reality in the world—to me!” he cried ardently, stopping the words on her lips with kisses. And so they went on, until Mrs. Cline returned and said:
“Now, my dear sir, you must go out and leave your lady to rest. She has stayed up too long already.”