She had shrunk down--sunk is not the word to convey an idea of the
prostration of strength, the collapse of resolution, expressed by
the figure cowering in the deep chair, its face upborne and hidden
by the shaking hands. They were cold as ice, Frederic felt, when he
would have drawn them aside.
"We will have no foolish reserves, my child. Much, if not all, the
happiness of our future lives may depend upon our perfect sincerity
now. You do not require to be told how poor is the offering of my
heart. You are the only person who has ever entered into the secret
of its emptiness and desolation; seen blight, where there should be
bloom; ashes, where flame should glow. But such as it is, it is
yours, if you will have it. If you are willing to trust yourself
with me, I will cherish as I now honor you, truly and forever; leave
no means untried that can add to your happiness. Dare you make the
venture?"
Her unstudied caress was beautiful and pathetic in its lowliness of
humility and earnest affection--too earnest for the commonplace
outlet of words. It was to slip to her knees at his feet, and kiss
his hand, then lay her cheek upon it, as some dumb, devoted thing
might do.
Then she was lifted into his arms, and kissed with a fervor she
mistook for awakening passion, and her heart bounded more madly in
the belief that her victory was complete, that he would henceforward
be hers in feeling as in name.
Yet the words breathed into her ear as her head rested upon his
bosom might have taught her the fallacy of her conviction and her
hopes.
"My noble, faithful girl! What have I to offer you in payment for
all this?"
"I ask nothing, except the right to be with, and to serve you!"
responded Rosa.
And she thought she spoke the whole truth for once.