CHAPTER XVIII
THE WEDDING MORN.
Love retired into his room and sat down beside the window to brood over his great happiness.
Something like humility blended with his grateful thoughts.
Who was he, what had he done, that Heaven should be so good to him, giving him the fairest, truest, sweetest girl in the world for his adored and loving bride?
He lifted his dark, dreamy eyes to the moonlit heavens and prayed reverentially:
"God make me worthy of the prize I have won!"
From the next room he could hear the low murmur of voices, as Dainty conversed with her mother in happy tones; but by and by all grew silent, as the fair girl sank to sleep, nestling against her mother's heart for the last time, for to-morrow would give her to her husband's arms.
Love heard the clock in the tower chime the midnight hour, and retired to dream of the happiness that would be his to-morrow.
And never came fairer dreams of the future to any lover's heart, as surely no lover's heart had ever been so bound up in its beauteous idol.