She stood before him silently. Her heart was beating very
fast. The surging of the deep sea was in her ears. It almost frightened
her, though she knew she had no cause to fear.
And then, suddenly, his hands were upon her shoulders and his eyes were
closely searching her face.
"I offer you myself, Molly," he said, and there was ringing passion in
his voice, though he controlled it. "I loved you from the moment you
offered to marry me. Is not that enough?"
Yes; it was enough. The mastery of it rolled in upon her in a full
flood-tide that no power of reasoning could withstand. She drew one long,
gasping breath--and yielded. The splendour of that moment was greater
than anything she had ever known. Its intensity was almost too vivid
to be borne.
She stretched up her arms to him with a little sob of pure and glad
surrender. There was no hiding what was in her heart. She revealed it to
him without words, but fully, gloriously, convincingly, as she yielded
her lips to his. And she forgot that she had desired to marry him for his
money. She forgot that the family clothes were threadbare and the family
cares almost impossible to cope with. She knew only that better thing
which is greater than poverty or pain or death itself. And, knowing it,
she possessed more than the whole world, and found it enough.
Late that night, when at last Molly lay down to rest with the morrow's
bride by her side, there came the final revelation of that amazing day.
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