And the next day,
Marguerite went home from the Merediths' and passed into a second
long illness.
The day came for Isabel to leave--she was going away to remain a
long time, a year, two years. They had had their last drive and
twilight was falling when they returned to the Hardages'. She was
standing on the steps as she gave him both her hands.
"Good-by," she said, in the voice of one who had finished her work.
"I hardly know what to say--I have said everything. Perhaps I
ought to tell you my last feeling is, that you will make life a
success, that nothing will pull you down. I suppose that the life
of each of us, if it is worth while, is not made up of one great
effort and of one failure or of one success, but of many efforts,
many failures, partial successes. But I am afraid we all try at
first to realize our dreams. Good-by!"
"Marry me," he said, tightening his grasp on her hands and speaking
as though he had the right.
She stepped quickly back from him. She felt a shock, a delicate
wound, and she said with a proud tear: "I did not think you would
so misjudge me in all that I have been trying to do."
She went quickly in.
VII
It was a morning in the middle of October when Dent and Pansy were
married.
The night before had been cool and clear after a rain and a
long-speared frost had fallen. Even before the sun lifted itself
above the white land, a full red rose of the sky behind the rotting
barn, those early abroad foresaw what the day would be.
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