[122] [122] “You are a foolish boy, Arthur.” “I am not a foolish boy!” he answered, exultingly; “I know what I am saying. Randolph does love you; I can see it more plainly every day. He loves you with all his heart, and some day soon he will ask you to be his wife. Of course you will say yes—you must like him, I am sure, as much as every one else does; and then everything will come right, and we shall all be perfectly happy. Things always do come right in the end, if we only will but believe it.” Monica sat very still, a strange, dream-like feeling stealing over her. Arthur’s playful words shed a sudden flood of light upon much that had been dark before, and for a moment she was blinded and dazzled. [123] [123] Randolph Trevlyn loved her! Yes, she could well believe it, little as she knew of love, thinking of the glance bent upon her not long ago, which had thrilled her then, she knew not why. Monica trembled, yet she was dimly conscious of a strange under-current of startled joy beneath the troubled waters of doubt, despondency, and perplexity. She could not understand herself, nor read her heart aright, yet it seemed as if through the lifting of the clouds, she obtained a rapid passing glimpse of a land of golden sunshine beyond, whither her face and footsteps alike were turned—as a traveller amid the mountain mists sees before him now and again the bright sunny smiling valley beneath which he will shortly reach. The land of promise was spreading itself [124]out already before Monica’s eyes, and a dim perception in her heart was telling her that this was so. Yet the sandy desert path still lay before her for awhile, for like many others, her eyes were partially blinded, and she turned from the direct way, and wandered still for awhile in the arid waste. She lacked the faith to grasp the promise; but it was shining before her all the while, and in her heart of hearts she felt it, though she could not yet grasp the truth. [124] [125] [125] CHAPTER THE SEVENTH. “WILT THOU HAVE THIS WOMAN?”
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