She is almost everything to him now that a wife could be
consulting his wishes before her own, or Arthur's, and making all
else subservient to them. No royal sovereign ever lorded it over
his subjects more completely than could Richard over Collingwood,
if he chose, for master and servants alike yield him unbounded
deference; but Richard is far too gentle to abuse the power vested
in his hands and so he rules by perfect love, which knows no
shadow of distrust. The gift of sight has compensated for all his
olden pain, and often to himself he says, "I would hardly be blind
again for the sake of Edith's first affections."
He calls her Edith now, just as he used to do, and Edith knows
that only a scar is left, as a memento of the fearful sacrifice.
The morning has broken at last, the darkness passed away, and
while basking in the full, rich daylight, both Richard and Arthur,
and Edith wonder if they are the same to whom the world was once
so dreary. Only over Grace Atherton is any darkness brooding. She
cannot forget the peerless boon she throw away when she
deliberately said to Richard Harrington, "I will not walk in your
shadow," and the love she once bore him is alive in all its force,
but so effectually concealed that few suspect its existence.
Pages:
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617