Then quitting antiquity with her
altogether, he passed downward with her into the days of chivalry,
brought her to Arthur's court, and invested her with one character
after another, trying her by the ladies of knightly ideals--reading
her between the lines in all the king's idyls.
But last and best, seeing her in the clear white light of her own
country and time--as the spirit of American girlhood, pure,
refined, faultlessly proportioned in mental and physical health,
full of kindness, full of happiness, made for love, made for
motherhood. All this he did in his hopeless and idealizing worship
of her; and all this and more he hid away: for he too had his crypt.
So watching her and watching vainly over her, he was the first to
see that she was loved and that her nature was turning away from
him, from all that he could offer--subdued by that one other call.
"Now, Fates," he said, "by whatsoever names men have blindly prayed
to you; you that love to strike at perfection, and pass over a
multitude of the ordinary to reach the rare, stand off for a few
years! Let them be happy together in their love, their marriage,
and their young children. Let the threads run freely and be
joyously interwoven. Have mercy at least for a few years!"
A carriage turned a corner of the street and was driven to the
door. Isabel got out, and entered the hall without ringing.
He met her there and as she laid her hands in his without a word,
he held them and looked at her without a word.
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