Her husband looked astonished at her act; then his face softened, his eyes lighted with sudden joy.
“Why, my wife? I believe you almost love me after all! Do you, Estelle?” he eagerly questioned; “do I possess any more of your heart now than I did when you married me, or has it been a continual struggle all along to be a good wife to me?”
She was sobbing like a child, now; the haughty, indomitable spirit that had upheld her so long was subdued at last.
“I have not dared to let you see how much of my heart you have won; you know you told me you did not entertain a lover’s affection for me, and I would not force mine upon you,” she confessed, with her face still hidden upon his breast.
He folded his arms more closely about her.
“And I have imagined that you were holding me at arms’ length during all our life,” he said, laying his cheek softly against her still glossy hair. “Estelle, we will be lovers all the rest of our lives, for, my wife, you have become very, very dear to me—I did not realize how dear until now. We will not look backward any more, but forward; we have both erred greatly in the past, and it would ill become either of us to criticise the other. Tell me, shall we drop the vail of charity over it all, and begin to live our real life from this hour?”
For the first time in her life, she put her arms about his neck, and voluntarily laid her lips against his cheek.
“I do not deserve this, William,” she said, humbly, “but you have made me happier than I ever expected to be again.”
He returned her caress with great tenderness, then said:
“I must not keep you standing here, dear, nor our guests waiting below; but I will come to you again later.”