In this attitude she remained, her body
shaking with sobs.
Philip, moved as a man rarely is, hastened to her, and leaning over,
essayed to take her hand.
"But you should understand, dear," said he, most tenderly, with what
voice he could command. "God knows I would do anything to make you
happy, but--"
"Then," she said tearfully, resigning her hand to his, "don't bring
this disappointment upon me. Let them make war, if they please; you
have your wife to consider, and your own future. Whatever they fight
about, 'tis nothing to you, compared with your duty to me."
"But you don't understand," was all he could reply. "If I could
explain--"
"Oh, Phil, dear," she said, adopting again a tender, supplicating
tone. "You'll not rob me of what I've so joyously looked forward to,
will you? Think, how I've set my heart on it! Why, we've looked
forward to it together, haven't we? All our happiness has been bound
up with our anticipations. Don't speak of understanding or
explaining,--only remember that our first thought should be of each
other's happiness, dear, and that you will ruin mine if you don't take
me. For my sake, for my love, promise we shall go to England in June!
I beg you--'tis the one favour--I will love you so! Do, Phil! We shall
be so happy!"
She looked up at him with such an eager pleading through her tears
that I did not wonder to see his own eyes moisten.
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