But the girl's cup of joy could bear this memory. She knew her love at last.
Willy stepped between Rotha and Ralph. He was deeply moved. He was about to yield up the dream of his life. He tried to speak, and stopped. He tried again, and stopped once more. Then he took Rotha's hand and put it into Ralph's, and turned away in silence.
And now these two, long knit together, soul to soul, parted by sorrow, purified by affliction, ennobled by suffering, stand in this white moonlight hand in hand.
Hereafter the past is dead to them, and yet lives. What was sown in sorrow is raised in joy; what was sown in affliction is raised in peace; what was sown in suffering is raised in love.
And thus the tired old world wags on, and true it is to-day as yesterday that WHOM GOD'S HAND RESTS ON HAS GOD AT HIS RIGHT HAND.