I rose to my feet, and clasping both her hands spoke only her name "Madge." She answered simply, "Malcolm, is it possible ?" And her face, illumined by the sunlight and by the love-god, told me all else.

Then I gently took her to my arms and kissed her lips again and again and again, and Madge by no sign nor gesture said me nay.

She breathed a happy sigh, her head fell upon my breast, and all else of good that the world could offer compared with her was dross to me.
We again took our places by the window, since now I might hold her hand without an excuse.

By the window we sat, speaking little, through the happiest hour of my I life.

How dearly do I love to write about it, and to lave my soul in the sweet aromatic essence of its memory.