Soothed? Ah, yes! She felt
like a babe to-night, cradled in the arms of something, she knew not
what--something holy, eternal and calm. And _this_ was love. She had
craved it often--wondered how it would come to her--and it was just
Arthur, after all, her childhood's friend, Arthur--but yet how changed!
He was not the same. She felt it dimly. The Arthur of her girlhood was
gone. They were man and woman now. She had not known this Arthur as he
was now. A veil seemed to have been suddenly drawn from his face, and
she saw in him--her ideal. There were tears in her eyes as she gazed
heavenward. She had thought to journey to heathen lands alone,
single-handed to fight the battle, and now--"Arthur--Arthur!" she called
in a soft, sweet whisper as she drooped her smiling face. What mattered
all her blind shilly-shally fancies about his nature not being poetic?
There was more poetry buried in that heart of his than she had ever
dreamed. "I can never, never marry Arthur!" she had often told herself.
She laughed now as she thought of it, and it was late before she slept,
for she seemed to see those eyes looking at her in the darkness--so
familiar, yet so new and changed! She awoke for a moment in the grey
light just before dawn, and she could see him still; her hand yet
thrilled from his touch.
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