She did not hope it yet, she only felt that a blissful possibility was
thrown down before her, and she might take it up if she could.
She knew that this strange absorbing love, which, like some splendid
flower, had opened out in her path, was the one supreme blossom of her
life--that life which is all too short for the unfolding of another
such. But the last few hours had taught her something more, it was now
just possible that he might pretend to gather this flower--he had
something to learn then before he could wear it, he must love her, or
she felt that her own love would break her heart.
Emily had not one of those poverty-stricken natures which are never glad
excepting for some special reason drawing them above themselves. She was
naturally joyous and happy, unless under the pressure of an active
sorrow that shaded her sky and quenched her sunshine. She lived in an
elevated region full of love and wonder, taking kindly alike to
reverence and to hope; but she was seldom excited, her feelings were not
shallow enough to be easily troubled with excitement, or made fitful
with agitation.
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