"I--hardly know whether this is wise. I somehow fear----"
"Fear what?" I asked, interrupting her.
"I fear what the future may hold for us," she answered. "Remember I--I
am poor, while you are wealthy, and----"
"What does that matter, pray? Thank Heaven! I have sufficient for us
both--sufficient to provide for you the ordinary comforts of life,
Sylvia. I only now long for the day, dearest, when I may call you
wife."
"Ah!" she said, with a wistful smile, "and I, too, shall be content
when I can call you husband."
And so we sat together upon the couch, holding each other's hand, and
speaking for the first time not as friends--but as lovers.
You who love, or who have loved, know well the joyful, careless
feeling of such moments; the great peace which overspreads the mind
when the passion of affection burns within.
Need I say more, except to tell you that our great overwhelming love
was mutual, and that our true hearts beat in unison?
Thus the afternoon slipped by until, of a sudden, we heard a girl's
voice call: "Sylvia! Sylvia!"
We sprang apart. And not a moment too soon, for next second there
appeared at the French windows the tall figure of a rather pretty
dark-haired girl in cream.
"I--I beg your pardon!" she stammered, on recognizing that Sylvia was
not alone.
"This is Mr. Biddulph," exclaimed my well-beloved. "Miss Elsie
Durnford."