it Helen—I dare not believe in such felicity: and the longer I have to wait, the greater will be my dread that something will intervene to snatch you from me—and think, a thousand things may happen in a year!—I shall be in one long fever of restless terror and impatience all the time. And besides, winter is such a dreary season."
"I thought so too," replied she gravely: "I would not be married in winter—in December, at least," she added with a shudder—for in that month had occurred both the ill-starred marriages that had bound her to her former husband and the terrible death that released her—"and therefore, I said another year in spring."
"Next spring."
"No, no—next autumn, perhaps."
"Summer, then."
"Well, the close of summer. There now! be satisfied."
While she was speaking, Arthur re-entered the room—good boy for keeping out so long.
