His tears were on her hands, and he had loved her all her life; no one else loved her, no one else ever would love her like this; he was good and true, and she wanted some one to love her; she wanted to be sure of love somewhere and then to go to sleep. Her father should see her married before he died; her mother would never—
“You have promised,” he cried, in a thick voice. “You have promised and you never break your word.”
“I have promised and I never break my word; but you must not speak of it to any one, not even to Laura, and I will not tell father, or Gus, or Miss Jewett, or Dine; no one must guess it for one year—it is so sudden and strange! I couldn’t bear to hear it spoken of; and if you are very gentle and do not try to make me love you—you must not kiss me, or put your arms around me, you know I never did like that, and perhaps that is one reason why I never liked you before—you must let me alone, let love come of itself and grow of itself.”
“I will,” he uttered brokenly, and rose up trembling from head to foot. “May God bless you!—bless you!—bless you!”
It was better for him to leave her; the strain had been too great for both.
“I must be alone; I must go out under the stars and thank God.”
She lifted her face to his and kissed him. How unutterably glad and thankful she was in all her life afterward that she gave that kiss unasked.
“God bless you, my darling,” he said tenderly, “and He will bless you for this.”
Bewildered, not altogether unhappy, she sat alone while he went out under the stars.
Was this the end of all her girlhood’s dreams?