OLIVER’S BRIDE
A True Story
BY
MRS. OLIPHANT,
Author of “The Chronicles of Carlingford,” etc.
Copyright
LONDON:
THE STANDARD LIBRARY COMPANY,
15 Clerkenwell Road, E.C.
OLIVER’S BRIDE.
| CHAPTER I., II., III., IV., V., VI., VII., VIII., IX. |
CHAPTER I.
‘I have not been always what I ought to have been,’ he said, ‘you mustunderstand that, Grace. I can’t let you take me without telling you,though it’s against myself. I have not been the man that your husbandought to be, that is the truth.’
She smiled upon him with all the tenderness of which her eyes werecapable, which was saying much, and pressed the hands which held hers.They had just, after many difficulties and embarrassments and delay,said to each other all that people say when,{2} from being strangers, theybecome one and conclude to part no more. They were standing together inall the joyful agitation and excitement which accompany thisexplanation—their hearts beating high, their faces illuminated by theradiance of the delight which is always a surprise to the true lover,even when to others it has been most certain and evident. Their friendshad known for weeks that this was what it was coming to; but he was palewith the ineffable discovery that she loved him, and she all-envelopedin the very bloom of a blush for pure wonder of this extraordinarycertainty that he loved her. She looked at him and smiled, their claspedhands changing their action for the moment, she pressing his in token ofutmost confidence as his hitherto had pressed hers.
‘I do not mean only that I do not deserve you, which is what any manwould say,’ he resumed, after the unspoken yet unmistakable answer shehad made him. ‘The best man on earth might say so, and speak the{3} truth.No man is good enough for such as you; but I mean more than that.’
‘You mean flattery,’ she said, ‘which I would not listen to for a momentif it were not sweeter to listen to than anything else in the world. Youdon’t suppose I believe that; but so long as you do—’
Her hands unloosed and melted into his again, and he resumed thepressure which became almost painful, so close it was and earnest.
‘Dear,’ he said, with his voice trembling, ‘you must not think I meanthat only. That would be so were I a better man. I mean that I am notworthy to touch your dear hand or the hem of your garment. Oh, listen: Ihave not been a good man, Grace.’
She released one of her hands and put it up softly and touched his lips.
‘All that has been is done with,’ she said, ‘for both of us—everythinghas become new—’
‘Ah,’ he said, ‘if you are content with{4} that, it is so; i