The dear small
curl of hair! The actual, tangible proof of his own living son. He lifted
it with the greatest reverence to his lips, and a mist of joy swam in his
blue eyes. Ah! it was all too wonderful--too divine the thought! The
essence of their great love--this child of his and hers. His and hers!
Yes, their hope had not deceived them. It was true! It was true!
Then his mind rose in passionate worship of his lady. His goddess and
Queen--the mainspring of his watch of life--the supreme and absolute
mistress of his heart and soul. Never had he more madly desired and loved
her than this day. He kissed and kissed her words in deep devotion.
But how and where was she?--was she well?--was she ill? Had she been
suffering? Oh! that he could fly to her. More than ever the terrible gall
of their separation came to him. It was his right, by every law of nature,
to now be by her side.
But she was well--she must be well, or she would have said, and surely he
soon would see her.
It was like a voice from heaven, her little written words, bridging the
impossible--drawing him back to the knowledge and certainty that she was
there, for him to love, and one day to go to. Fate could never be so unjust
as to part him from--the mother of his child.
And then a state of mad ecstasy came over Paul with that vision; he could
not stay in the house; he must go out under God's sky, and let his
soul-thoughts fly into space.
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