The girl was trembling when he stopped the car at the front door,
sprang out, and aided her to descend.
A man in overalls came up, diffidently, and touched his broad straw
hat. To him Clive gave a low-voiced order or two, then stepped forward
to where the girl was standing.
"It is too beautiful--" she began, but her voice failed, and he saw
the sensitive lips tremulous in their silence and the eyes brilliant
with the menace of tears.
He drew her arm through his and they went in, moving slowly and in
silence from room to room. Only the almost convulsive pressure of her
arm on his told him of a happiness too deep for expression.
On the landing above he offered her the key to her mother's room.
"Nothing is changed there," he said; and, fitting the key, unlocked
the door, and turned away.
But the girl caught his hand in hers and drew him with her into the
faded, shabby room where her mother's chair stood in its accustomed
place, and the faded hassock lay beside it.
"Sit here," she said. And when he was seated she dropped on the
hassock at his feet and laid her cheek on his knees.
The room was very still and sunny; her lover remained silent and
unstirring; and the girl's eyes wandered from carpet to ceiling and
from wall to wall, resting on familiar objects; then, passing
dreamily, remained fixed on space--sweet, brooding eyes, dim with the
deepest emotion she had ever known.
A new, profound, and thrilling peace possessed her--a heavenly sense
of tranquillity and security, as though, somehow, all problems had
been solved for her and for him.
Presently in a low, hushed, happy voice she began to speak about her
mother. Little unimportant, unconnected incidents came to her
mind--brief moments, episodes as ephemeral as they had been
insignificant.
Sitting on the faded hassock at his feet she lifted her head and
rested both arms across his knees.
"It is all so perfect now," she said,--"you here in mother's room, and
I at your feet: and the sunny world waiting for us outside. How mellow
is this light! Always in the demi-dusk of this house there seemed to
me to linger a golden tint--even on dark days--even at night--as
though somewhere a ray of sun had been lost and had not entirely faded
out."
"It came from your own heart, Athalie--that wonderful and golden heart
of yours where light and warmth can never die.... Dear, are you
contented with what I have ventured to do?"