This was not a new thought or
a new word to either. They could scarcely tell themselves when the idea
had first arisen in their minds that they would one day live together,
and be what Carl Werner and his wife were to each other. They had even
chosen a site for their house; and Ernest had more than once of late
expressed the opinion that they were old enough to inform their parents
of their intentions; but the more timid Meeta objected. Now, however,
she could refuse Ernest nothing, and before the day of parting came they
had made a _confidante_ of Meeta's mother, and from her the two fathers
had learned the desires of their children. Carl Werner heard the story
with a smile; but a denser shadow gathered on the dark brow of Franz.
For a moment something of his father's pride was in his heart; but his
own blighted life arose before him, and he said, "The boy may do as he
pleases. No man has a right to control another on such a subject."
The sun had not yet risen, though its rays were gilding the few light
clouds that flecked the eastern sky, when Meeta and Ernest stood
together beneath an old oak which had long been their favorite
"trysting-tree," to say those words and give and receive those last
looks which are among life's most sacred treasures.
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