She wept, but not for sorrow, as he pressed her to his heart.
After a brief space, he looked down at the child, who was sitting at their feet playing with a little basket of flowers, and bade her look how golden and how red the sun was.
'Alfred,' said Grace, raising her head quickly at these words.
'The sun is going down.You have not forgotten what I am to know before it sets.'
'You are to know the truth of Marion's history, my love,' he answered.
'All the truth,' she said, imploringly.'Nothing veiled from me, any more.That was the promise.Was it not?'
'It was,' he answered.
'Before the sun went down on Marion's birth-day.And you see it, Alfred? It is sinking fast.'
He put his arm about her waist, and, looking steadily into her eyes, rejoined:
'That truth is not reserved so long for me to tell, dear Grace.It is to come from other lips.'
'From other lips!' she faintly echoed.
'Yes.I know your constant heart, I know how brave you are, I know that to you a word of preparation is enough.You have said, truly, that the time is come.It is.Tell me that you have present fortitude to bear a trial - a surprise - a shock: and the messenger is waiting at the gate.'
'What messenger?' she said.'And what intelligence does he bring?'
'I am pledged,' he answered her, preserving his steady look, 'to say no more.Do you think you understand me?'
'I am afraid to think,' she said.
There was that emotion in his face, despite its steady gaze, which frightened her.Again she hid her own face on his shoulder, trembling, and entreated him to pause - a moment.
'Courage, my wife! When you have firmness to receive the messenger, the messenger is waiting at the gate.The sun is setting on Marion's birth-day.Courage, courage, Grace!'
She raised her head, and, looking at him, told him she was ready.