“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I see. I see it all. And from the bottom of my heart I thank him for his goodness, and I pray God to bless him. But Marion, my dearest, my own darling,” and as he spoke he drew her towards him and looked with the tender trust of happy love into the clear sweet eyes that met his gaze, “I could not—generous and noble as he is—I could not have said what I have, could not have felt as I do, but for the remembrance of the sweetest hour of my life, the night when you found the letter, and told me, my darling, that I need not die—that you had learnt to love me.”
Marion hid her face in her husband’s breast and felt that she was at rest and happy. But tears rose gently to her eyes, as there flashed across her mind the remembrance of her dream.
“Dear, I look from my hiding-place,
Are you still so fair?— Have you still the eyes?
Be happy.”
THE END