Anticipation Was The Soul Of Enjoyment.

Mr Thornton Would Rather Have Heard That She Was Suffering The Natural Sorrow. In The First Place, There Was Selfishness Enough In Him To Have Taken Pleasure In The Idea That His Great Love Might Come In To Comfort And Console Her; Much The Same Kind Of Strange Passionate Pleasure Which Comes Stinging Through A Mother's Heart, When Her Drooping Infant Nestles Close To Her, And Is Dependent Upon Her For Everything.

Margaret Had Always Dreaded Lest Her Courage Should Fail Her In Any Emergency, And She Should Be Proved To Be, What She Dreaded Lest She Was--a Coward. But Now, In This Real Great Time Of Reasonable Fear And Nearness Of Terror, She Forgot Herself, And Felt Only An Intense Sympathy--intense To Painfulness--in The Interests Of The Moment.

He Could Not Forget The Touch Of Her Arms Around His Neck, Impatiently Felt As It Had Been At The Time; But Now The Recollection Of Her Clinging Defence Of Him, Seemed To Thrill Him Through And Through,—to Melt Away Every Resolution, All Power Of Self-control, As If It Were Wax Before A Fire.

It Seemed As Though He Gave Way All At Once; He Was So Languid That He Could Not Control His Thoughts; They Would Wander To Her; They Would Bring Back The Scene,- Not Of His Repulse And Rejection The Day Before But The Looks, The Actions Of The Day Before That. He Went Along The Crowded Streets Mechanically, Winding In And Out Among The People, But Never Seeing Them, -almost Sick With Longing For That One Half-hour-that One Brief Space Of Time When She Clung To Him, And Her Heart Beat Against His-to Come Once Again.

I Wish I Could Love People As You Do, Molly!' 'don't You?' Said The Other, In Surprise. 'no. A Good Number Of People Love Me, I Believe, Or At Least They Think They Do; But I Never Seem To Care Much For Any One. I Do Believe I Love You, Little Molly, Whom I Have Only Known For Ten Days, Better Than Any One.