The sweetest strongest words of love
were never written. They are not translatable in earthly language.
Richard was dumb with happiness, and Elizabeth understood the silence.
As they rode home and sauntered up the terraces, Antony said, "What
a dull evening we have had;" but Phyllis was of the initiated, and
knew better. She looked at Elizabeth and smiled brightly, while Richard
clasped tighter the dear hand he was holding.
About an hour later Phyllis went to Elizabeth's room. It was a large
chamber open to the east and south, with polished oaken floors, and
hung with white dimity. She sat at one of the open southern windows,
and the wind, which gently moved the snowy curtains, brought in with
it the scent of bleaching clover. There was no light but that shadow
of twilight which, in English summers, lingers until it is lost in
the dawning. But it was quite sufficient. She turned her face to meet
Phyllis, and Phyllis kissed her, and said,
"I know, Elizabeth; and I am so glad."
"Richard told you?"
"No, indeed! Richard is too much astonished at his own happiness to
speak of it to-night. But when one loves, one understands naturally.
It has made me very happy. Why, Elizabeth, you are weeping!"
"I am strangely sorrowful, Phyllis. A shadow which I cannot account
for chills me.
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