He told me all with his poor pale lips before he
died. Oh, oh! when shall I forget?"
"You can never forget, dear; I don't ask anything contrary to
nature. You were a good daughter, and so I believe you will be a
good wife. But if I bring the murderer to justice, you will feel
that a great wrong has been righted--that all has been done that
can be done. Then you'll begin to think that your father wouldn't
wish you to grieve yourself to death, and that as he tried to make
you happy while he was living, so he will wish you to be happy now
he's gone."
"It isn't a question of happiness. I don't feel as if I could ever
be happy again; and so I don't see how I can make you or any one
else happy."
"That's my lookout, Clara. I'd be only too glad to take you as you
are. Come, now, this is December. If I bring Bute in by Christmas,
what will you give me?"
She silently and eloquently gave him her hand; but her lips
quivered so she could not speak. He kissed her hand as gallantly
as any olden-time knight, then added a little brusquely:
"See here, little girl, I'm not going to bind you by anything that
looks like a bargain.
Pages:
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73