"My Gerald--let me say it on your breast a thousand times!" "My wife!" he said--"so soon my wife and all my own until life's end." "Nay, nay," she cried, her cheek pressed to his own, "through all eternity, for Love's life knows no end." As it had seemed to her poor lord who had died, so it seemed to this man who lived and so worshipped her--that the wonder of her sweetness was a thing to marvel at with passionate reverence.

Being a man of greater mind and poetic imagination than Dunstanwolde, and being himself adored by her, as that poor gentleman had not had the good fortune to be, he had ten thousand-fold the power and reason to see the tender radiance of her.
As she was taller than other women, so her love seemed higher and greater, and as free from any touch of earthly poverty of feeling as her beauty was from any flaw.

In it there could be no doubt, no pride; it could be bounded by no limit, measured by no rule, its depths sounded by no plummet.
His very soul was touched by her great longing to give to him the feeling, and to feel herself, that from the hour that she had become his, her past life was a thing blotted out.
"I am a new created thing," she said; "until you called me 'Love' I had no life! All before was darkness.

'Twas you, my Gerald, who said, 'Let there be light, and there was light.'" "Hush, hush, sweet love," he said.

"Your words would make me too near God's self." "Sure Love is God," she cried, her hands upon his shoulders, her face uplifted.