"If you will ask me, I will share it."
She put her hand into his. He felt as if her soul lay in it. They walked on. Already the evening was dark around them.
Canon Alston was a little surprised, merely because he was a father, and fathers are always a little surprised when men love their children. But he liked Maurice heartily and gave his consent to the marriage. Miss Bigelow ordered a valuable wedding-present, and resolved to live until over the marriage day at least. And Brayfield gossiped and gloried in possessing a legitimate cause for excitement.
As for Lily, she was strangely happy with a happiness far different from that of the usual betrothed young girl. She loved Maurice deeply. Nevertheless she did not blind herself to the fact that he was still unhappy, restless, self-engrossed and often terror-stricken, although he tried to appear more confident than of old, and to assume a gaiety suitable to his situation in the eyes of the world. She knew he could never be entirely free to love so long as the cry of the child rang in his ears. And he told her that, strangely enough, since their engagement it had become more importunate. Once he even tried to break their contract.
"I cannot link my life with another's," he said desperately. "Who knows—when you are one with me, you may be haunted as I am. That would be too horrible."
It was a flash of real and heartfelt unselfishness. Lily felt herself thrill with gratitude. But she only said:
"I am not afraid."
On another occasion—this was about a month after they became engaged—Maurice said:
"Lily, when shall we be married?"
She glanced up at him, and saw that he was paler even than usual, and that his face looked drawn with fatigue.