‘I think she has a great deal,’ said Bradley, quickly. ‘But I was shocked to see her looking so ill and worn. Is she having good medical advice?’
‘The best in London. Dr. Harley sees her nearly every day. Poor Agatha! She has not had too much happiness in this world. She has worked so hard, and all alone!’
They entered the park gate, and came again among the greenness and the sunshine. Everything seemed light and happiness, and the air had that indescribable sense of resurrection in it which comes with the early shining of the primrose and the reawakening of the year. Bradley glanced at his companion. Never had she seemed so bright and beautiful!
With the flush of the rose on her cheek, and her eyes full of pensive light, she moved lightly and gracefully at his side.
A lark rose from the grass not far away, and warbled ecstatically overhead. Bradley felt his blood stir and move like sap in the bough at the magic touch of the season, and with kindling eyes he drew nearer to his companion’s side.
‘Well, dearest, you were a true prophet,’ he said, taking her hand and drawing it softly within his arm. ‘It has all come to pass, through you. The New Church flourishes in spite of those who hate all things new; and I have you—you only—to thank for it all.’
‘I want no thanks,’ replied Alma. ‘It is reward enough to forward the good work, and to make you happy.’
‘Happy? Yes, I ought to be happy, should I not?’
‘And you are, I hope, dear Ambrose!’
‘Yes, I think so. Only sometimes—on a day like this, for example—I cannot help looking back with a sigh to the dear old times at Fensea. A benediction seems to rest upon the quiet country life, which contented me then so little. I miss the peaceful fields, the loneliness and rest of the fens, the silence of the encircling sea!’