XVIII

           

           AnnaLeath,fromtheterrace,watchedthereturnofthelittlegroup.

           Shelookeddownonthem,astheyadvancedacrossthegarden,fromthesereneheightofherunassailablehappiness.Theretheywere,comingtowardherinthemildmorninglight,herchild,herstep-son,herpromisedhusband:thethreebeingswhofilledherlife.Shesmiledalittleatthehappypicturetheypresented,Effie’sgambolsencirclingitinamovingframewithinwhichthetwomencameslowlyforwardinthesilenceoffriendlyunderstanding.Itseemedpartofthedeepintimacyofthescenethattheyshouldnotbetalkingtoeachother,anditdidnottillafterwardstrikeherasoddthatneitherofthemapparentlyfeltitnecessarytoaddressawordtoSophyViner.

           Annaherself,atthemoment,wasfloatinginthemid-currentoffelicity,onatidesobrightandbuoyantthatsheseemedtobeonewithitswarmwaves.Thefirstrushofblisshadstunnedanddazzledher;butnowthat,eachmorning,shewoketothecalmcertaintyofitsrecurrence,shewasgrowingusedtothesenseofsecurityitgave.

           “IfeelasifIcouldtrustmyhappinesstocarryme;asifithadgrownoutofmelikewings.”SoshephrasedittoDarrow,as,laterinthemorning,theypacedthegarden-pathstogether.Hisansweringlookgaveherthesameassuranceofsafety.Theeveningbeforehehadseemedpreoccupied,andtheshadowofhismoodhadfaintlyencroachedonthegreatgoldenorboftheirblessedness;butnowitwasuneclipsedagain,andhungabovethemhighandbrightasthesunatnoon.

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