"Well!" I said to myself. "What next?"
I had not told Felipa we were going: I thought it best to let it take
her by surprise. I had various small articles of finery ready as
farewell gifts which should act as sponges to absorb her tears. But Fate
took the whole matter out of my hands. This is how it happened. One
evening in the jessamine arbor, in the fragrant darkness of the warm
spring night, the end came: Christine was won. She glided in like a
wraith, and I, divining at once what had happened, followed her into her
little room, where I found her lying on her bed, her hands clasped on
her breast, her eyes open and veiled in soft shadows, her white robe
drenched with dew. I kissed her fondly--I never could help loving her
then or now--and next I went out to find Edward. He had been kind to me
all my poor gray life: should I not go to him now? He was still in the
arbor, and I sat down by his side quietly: I knew that the words would
come in time. They came: what a flood! English was not enough for him.
He poured forth his love in the rich-voweled Spanish tongue also: it
has sounded doubly sweet to me ever since.
"Have you felt the wool of the beaver?
Or swan's down ever?
Or have smelt the bud o' the brier?
Or the nard in the fire?
Or ha' tasted the bag o' the bee?
Oh so white, oh so soft, oh so sweet is she!"
said the young lover again and again; and I, listening there in the dark
fragrant night, with the dew heavy upon me, felt glad that the old
simple-hearted love was not entirely gone from our tired metallic world.
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