“You are not afraid now, my darling?”
“No,” she answered, unsteadily; “but it is all so like a dream. A fortnight ago—only a fortnight—I was the most desolate creature in God’s earth; and now—”
“And now,” echoing her words with a kiss, “you are my wife. Ah, do you remember your childish speech—it used to ring in my ears; ‘I am going to belong to Raby all my life long; I will never leave him, never.’ Well, it has come true, love; you are mine now.”
“Yes,” she whispered, leaning her forehead against him, “you will never be able to got rid of me; and oh”—her voice trembling—“the rest of knowing that it will never be my duty to leave you.”
He laughed at that, but something glistened in his eyes too. “No, my wild bird; no more flights for you—I have you safely now; you are bound to me by this”—touching the little circlet of gold upon the slender finger. “Now, my darling—my wife of an hour, I want you to make me a promise; I ask it of your love, Crystal. If a shadow—even the very faintest shadow, cross your spirit; if one accusing thought seems to stand between your soul and mine; one doubt or fear that, like the cloud no bigger than a man’s hand, might rise and spread into the blackness of tempest, will you come and tell it to me?”
“Oh, Raby, do not ask me.”
“But I do ask it, love, and I ask it in my twofold character of priest and husband, and it is the first request your husband makes you. Come, do not hesitate. You have given me yourself; now, with sweet generosity, promise me this, that you will share with me every doubt and fear that disturbs you?”
“Will you not let me try to conquer the feeling alone first, and then come to you?”
“No, I would not undertake the responsibility; I know you too well, darling. Come, I thought you promised something that sounded like obedience just now.”
“Ah, you are laughing at me. But this is no light matter, Raby; it means that I am to burden you with all my foolish doubts and fancies—that I am never to keep my wrong feelings to myself.”