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McCutcheon, George Barr, 1866-1928

"The Rose in the Ring"


"Christine," he half whispered, "are you--are you truly glad to see
me? Do you mean it?"
She was looking straight into his eyes. In her own glowed a dark
appeal; she seemed to be delving in the secret recesses of his heart.
"David," she cried, forgetful of everything else in the world, "does
it mean that you--you still care for me? You haven't changed? I have
been wondering--oh, how I have been--"
The plaintive note drove all doubt from his mind. He was suddenly
exalted. Speech was beyond him. His dream had come true. She was
incomparably fairer than his waking hours had pictured her during the
five years of probation; only in fond dreams had she appeared to him
as she now appeared in reality. He could only look down into her face,
mute under the seal of wonder. All that he had longed for and prayed
for was here revealed to him; he could have asked for no more. He went
suddenly weak with joy.
"My little Christine," he murmured.
"I have been so afraid," she was saying, still searching his soul
through his eyes. "I am still afraid, David. It has been a long time.
So many things may have happened.


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