But she must not neglect the second;
perhaps it came first in natural order.
At the gate Richard nodded to her kindly.
'Good-bye. Be a good girl.'
What was it that caused a painful flutter at her heart as he spoke
so? She did not answer, but watched him for a few moments as he
walked away.
Did _he_ love _her_? The question which she had not asked herself
for a long time came of that heart-tremor. She had been living so
unnatural a life for a newly wedded woman, a life in which the
intellect and the moral faculties held morbid predominance. 'Be a
good girl.' How was it that the simple phrase touched her to emotion
quite different in kind from any thing she had known since her
marriage, more deeply than any enthusiasm, as with a comfort more
sacred than any she had known in prayer? As she turned to go back to
the house a dizziness affected her eyes; she had to stand still for
a moment. Involuntarily she clasped her hands upon her bosom and
looked away into the blue summer sky. Did he love her? She had never
asked him that, and all at once she felt a longing to hasten after
him and utter the question. Would he know what she meant?
Was it the instantaneous reward for having conscientiously striven
to honour him? That there should be love on his side had not
hitherto seemed of so much importance; probably she had taken it for
granted; she had been so preoccupied with her own duties.
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