"As what, Barbara?"
"As thy wife soon to be, Samuel Biddle."
I placed her hand in mine. "And thee is not mistaken?" I said.
"Nay, not mistaken now. I never knew thee till I understood that all men are not like thee. I never knew thee till I most foolishly thought that a few words from another man on even trivial subjects meant more than thy silence of devotion. I learned my own mind in many ways, Samuel, and then I learned thee; for I had thought thee was in a measure thrust upon me, and only because I had not seen thee before father's approval of thee. That other man's care of his wife—a care that kept her affliction from any and all eyes—showed me what thee was even, and what thee was for me. I cannot rightly say all that I would, but I can only say this—that I never cared overly much for thee at first, Samuel Biddle; but Richard Jordan has taught me one thing, which perhaps no other man in the world could have done."
"And that is—?"
"What love is."
"Barbara!"
"Yea, Samuel Biddle, what love is; for I love thee, I love thee, and but only thee; and might never have told thee so, but I heard what thee said a spell ago to father, and I knew that thee was not disgusted with me, but cared for me as much as ever. Yea, a stranger man has taught me what love is."
And while I could but pat her head as it rested upon my shoulder, I said gladly, "Barbara, more than man has taught me what love is, and to love thee; but maybe a man can teach to woman what the Lord alone has taught to me."
"Let me think so, Samuel—that the Lord taught thee, and thee taught me the knowledge fresh from the Lord."