"Asenath," said he, at last, "I never dared to hope for this. God
bless you for those words! Can you trust me?--can you indeed love
me?"
"I can trust thee,--I DO love thee!"
They clasped each other's hands in one long, clinging pressure. No
kiss was given, but side by side they walked slowly up the dewy
meadows, in happy and hallowed silence. Asenath's face became
troubled as the old farmhouse appeared through the trees.
"Father and mother must know of this, Richard," said she. "I am
afraid it may be a cross to them."
The same fear had already visited his own mind, but he answered,
cheerfully--
"I hope not. I think I have taken a new lease of life, and shall
soon be strong enough to satisfy them. Besides, my father is in
prosperous business."
"It is not that," she answered; "but thee is not one of us."
It was growing dusk when they reached the house. In the dim
candle-light Asenath's paleness was not remarked; and Richard's
silence was attributed to fatigue.
The next morning the whole family attended meeting at the
neighboring Quaker meeting-house, in the preparation for which, and
the various special occupations of their "First-day" mornings, the
unsuspecting parents overlooked that inevitable change in the faces
of the lovers which they must otherwise have observed.
Pages:
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347