"
Edith's was an April temperament, and already the sun was shining
through the cloud; the load at her heart was not so heavy, nor the
future half so dark. Her decision was made, her destiny accepted,
and henceforth she would abide by it nor venture to look back.
"Are you satisfied to take me on my terms?" she asked, as Richard
did not immediately answer.
He would rather she had loved him more, but it was sudden, he
knew, and she was young. He was terribly afraid, it is true, that
gratitude alone had influenced her actions, but the germ of love
was there, he believed; and by and by it would bear the rich, ripe
fruit. He could wait for that; and he loved her so much, wanted
her so much, needed her so much, that he would take her on any
terms.
"Yes" he said at last, resting his chin upon her bowed head, "I am
satisfied, and never since my rememberance, has there come to
Richard Harrington a moment so fraught with bliss as this in which
I hold you in my arms and know I hold my wife, my darling wife,
sweetest name ever breathed by human tongue--and Edith, if you
must sicken of me, do it now--to-night.
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