Дэвид Копперфильд

A Light Shines on My Way

           Ifshedidsoloveme(Isaid)thatshecouldtakemeforherhusband,shecoulddoso,onnodeservingofmine,exceptuponthetruthofmyloveforher,andthetroubleinwhichithadripenedtobewhatitwas;andhenceitwasthatIrevealedit.AndO,Agnes,evenoutofthytrueeyes,inthatsametime,thespiritofmychild-wifelookeduponme,sayingitwaswell;andwinningme,throughthee,totenderestrecollectionsoftheBlossomthathadwitheredinitsbloom!

           ‘Iamsoblest,TrotwoodmyheartissooverchargedbutthereisonethingImustsay.’

           ‘Dearest,what?’

           Shelaidhergentlehandsuponmyshoulders,andlookedcalmlyinmyface.

           ‘Doyouknow,yet,whatitis?’

           ‘Iamafraidtospeculateonwhatitis.Tellme,mydear.’

           ‘Ihavelovedyouallmylife!’

           O,wewerehappy,wewerehappy!Ourtearswerenotforthetrials(herssomuchthegreater)throughwhichwehadcometobethus,butfortheraptureofbeingthus,nevertobedividedmore!

           Wewalked,thatwinterevening,inthefieldstogether;andtheblessedcalmwithinusseemedtobepartakenbythefrostyair.Theearlystarsbegantoshinewhilewewerelingeringon,andlookinguptothem,wethankedourGODforhavingguidedustothistranquillity.

           Westoodtogetherinthesameold-fashionedwindowatnight,whenthemoonwasshining;Agneswithherquieteyesraiseduptoit;Ifollowingherglance.

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