He
doesn't see colors, as you and I do, Jack. That's what makes me sure that
this is the happiest of fortunes for them both."
He had held her hands, gazing at her downcast face, its strength speaking
from the shadow, its pain hidden from him, and now, before her resolution
and her gentleness, he bent his head upon the hands he held. "Oh, but _you,
you, you_!--It's _you_ whose life is shattered!" broke from him with a sob.
For a long while she stood silent above him, her hands enfolding his, as
though she comforted his grief. He found himself at length kissing the
gentle hands, with tears, and then, caressing his bent head with a light
touch, she said: "Don't you see that the time has come for me to accept
shatterings as in the order of things, dear Jack?--My mistake has been to
believe that life can begin over again. It can't. One uses it up--merely by
waiting. I've been an incurable girl till now;--and now, I've crashed from
girlhood to middle-age in a week! It's been a crash, of course; the sort of
crash one never mends of; but after to-day, after you sent me off with him,
Jack, and I allowed myself, in spite of all my dread, my pride, my
relinquishment, just one flicker of girlish hope,--after all this, I think
that I must put on caps to show that I am really old at last."
He lifted his head and looked at her. Her face was lovely, with the silver
disk of the moon above it and, about it, the mystery and sadness of the
tranquil woods.
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