On the other hand, Errington's passion for his wife was equally
absorbing--she had become the very moving-spring of his existence. His
eyes delighted in her beauty,--but more than this, he revelled in and
reverenced the crystal-clear parity and exquisite refinement of her
soul. Life assumed for him a new form,--studied by the light of Thelma's
straightforward simplicity and intelligence, it was no longer, as he had
once been inclined to think, a mere empty routine,--it was a treasure of
inestimable value fraught with divine meanings. Gradually, the touch of
modern cynicism that had at one time threatened to spoil his nature,
dropped away from him like the husk from an ear of corn,--the world
arrayed itself in bright and varying colors--there was good--nay, there
was glory--in everything.
With these ideas, and the healthy satisfaction they engendered, his
heart grew light and joyous,--his eyes more lustrous,--his step gay and
elastic,--and his whole appearance was that of man at his best,--man, as
God most surely meant him to be--not a rebellious, feebly-repining,
sneering wretch, ready to scoff at the very sunlight,--but a being both
brave and intelligent, strong and equally balanced in temperament, and
not only contented, but absolutely glad to be alive,--glad to feel the
blood flowing through the veins,--glad and grateful for the gifts of
breathing and sight.
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