"
Anna was out in the rectory garden bending over a bed of hyacinths
when Arthur brought her the paper and pointed to the notice.
"Oh, I am so glad--so glad--so glad!" she exclaimed, emphasizing each
successive "glad" a little more and setting down her foot, as if to
give it force. "I have never dared to be quite as happy with you as I
might," she continued, leaning lovingly against her husband, "for
there was always a thought of Lucy and what a fearful price she paid
for our happiness. But now it is all as it should be; and, Arthur, am
I very vain in thinking that she is better suited to Thornton Hastings
than I ever was, and that I do better as your wife than Lucy would
have done?"
A kiss was Arthur's only answer, but Anna was satisfied, and there
rested upon her face a look of perfect content as all that warm spring
afternoon she worked in her pleasant garden, thinking of the
newly-married pair in Rome, and glancing occasionally at the open
window of the library, where Arthur was busy with his sermon, his pen
moving all the faster for the knowing that Anna was just within his
call--that by turning his head he could see her dear face, and that
by-and-by when his work was done she would come in to him, and with
her loving words and winsome ways, make him forget how tired he was,
and thank heaven again for the great gift bestowed when it gave him
Anna Ruthven.
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