There was no deception about her. Hers was a nature as clear as
crystal, and, with a gush of glad tears, she promised to be the
rector's wife, hiding her face in his bosom, and telling him brokenly
how unworthy she was, how foolish and how unsuited to the place, but
promising to do the best she could do not to bring him into disgrace
on account of her shortcomings.
"With the acknowledgment that you love me, I can do anything," she
said, and her white hand crept slowly into the cold, clammy one which
lay so listlessly in Arthur's lap.
He was already repenting, for he felt that it was sin to take that
warm, trusting, loving heart in exchange for the half-lifeless one he
should render in return, the heart where scarcely a pulse of joy was
beating, even though he held his promised wife, and she as fair and
beautiful as ever promised wife could be.
"I can make her happy, and I will," he thought, pressing the warm
fingers which quivered to his touch.
But he did not kiss her again. He could not, for the brown eyes which
still seemed looking at him as if asking what he did. There was a
strange spell about those phantom eyes, and they made him say to Lucy,
who was now sitting demurely at his side:
"I could not clear my conscience if I did not confess that you are not
the first woman whom I have asked to be my wife.
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