But the opportunity never came. The "fatherly" feeling was swallowed
up in another, which effectually sealed the good man's tongue. He
determined to make her his wife, and then the letters, the whole story,
in which he had read her heart as clear as a book, and was afraid of
nothing, concerned himself alone. He felt at liberty to tell her how or
when he chose. At least so he persuaded himself.
"But perhaps I, too, was a little bit of a coward, my child. I, too, might
have avoided much misery if I had had the strength to speak out. But
we all make mistakes sometimes, as I told you once. The great thing is
not to leave them as mistakes, not to sink under them, but to recognize
them for what they are, and try to remedy them if possible. Even if we
married too hastily--I, because it was the only way in which I could
shelter and protect my darling, and you--well, perhaps because I over-
persuaded you, still, we are happy now."
Happy? It was a word too small--any word would be. The only
expression for such happiness was silence.
"And what are we to do about him?"
"Him! who?"
Christian said it quite naturally for, woman-like, in that rapture of
content, the whole world dwindled down into but two beings, herself
and her husband.
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