But these periods of apprehension were, in themselves, mere shadows thrown for a moment upon his happiness.

Again and again the subconscious force within him pounded home to his physical brain the great truth, that it was all extraordinarily real.
It was Marette who made him doubt himself at times.

He could not, quite yet, comprehend the fulness of that love which she had given him.

More than ever, in the glory of this love that had come to them she was like a child to him.

It seemed to him in the first hours of the morning that she had forgotten yesterday, and the day before, and ill the days before that.