The Harringtons live
long. I may see a hundred."
"And I shall then be seventy-nine; not so vast a difference,"
interrupted Edith.
"No, not a vast difference then," Richard rejoined, "but 'tis not
then I dread. 'Tis now, the next twenty-five years, during which I
shall be slowly decaying, while you will be ripening into a
matured, motherly beauty, dearer to your husband than all your
girlish loveliness. 'Tis then that I dread the contrast in you;
not when both are old; and, Edith, remember this, you can never be
old to me, inasmuch as I can never see you. I may feel that your
smooth, velvety flesh is wrinkled, that your shining hair is thin,
your soft round arms more sinewy and hard, but I cannot see it,
and in my heart I shall cherish ever the image I first loved as
Edith Hastings. You, on the contrary, will watch the work of death
go on in me, will see my hair turn gray, my form begin to stoop,
my hand to tremble, my eyes grow blear and watery, and when all
has come to pass, won't you sicken of the shaky old man and sigh
for a younger, more vigorous companion?"
"Not unless you show me such horrid pictures," Edith sobbed,
impetuously, for in her heart of hearts she felt the truth of
every word he uttered, and her whole soul revolted against the
view presented to her of the coming time.
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