Help me,
Arthur. Don't let him," she continued, as she felt the strong
hands removing her own by force. But Arthur only replied by
lifting up her head himself and holding in his own the struggling
hands, while Richard examined a face seen now for the first time
since its early babyhood. Oh how scrutinisingly he scanned that
face, with its brilliant black eyes, where tears were glittering
like diamonds in the sunlight, its rich healthful bloom, its
proudly curved lip, its dimpled chin and soft, round cheeks What
did he think of it? Did it meet his expectations? Was the face he
had known so long in his darkness as Edith's, natural when seen by
daylight? Mingled there no shadow of disappointment in the
reality? Was Arthur's Edith at all like Richard's singing bird?
How Arthur wished he knew. But Richard kept his own counsel, for a
time at least. He did not say what he thought of her. He only
kissed the lips beginning to quiver with something like a grieved
expression that Arthur should hold her so long, kissed them twice,
and with his hand wiped her tears away, saying playfully,
"'Tis too bad, Birdie, I know, but I've anticipated this hour so
long.
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