"
Her father and mother had not been led gently. They had known more
than common share of life's shocks and violence, its wrongs and
meannesses and ills and griefs. But their faith had never wavered that
they were being led gently; so long as they were led together, to them
it was gentle leading: the richer each in each for aught whereby
nature or man could leave them poorer; the calmer for the shocks; the
sweeter for the sour; the finer with one another because of life's
rudenesses. In after years she often thought of them as faithful in
their dust; and the flowers she planted over them and watered many a
bright day with happy tears brought up to her in another form the
freshness of their unwearied union.
That was what she had not doubted her own life would be--with
him--when she had married him.
From the moment of the night before when he had forced the door open
and entered her room, they had not exchanged any words nor a glance.
He had lain down and soon fallen asleep; apparently he had offered
that to her as for the moment at least his solution of the
matter--that he should leave her to herself and absent himself in
slumber.
The instant she knew him to be asleep she set about her preparations.
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