There was to be no bridal bed for these lovers, but thus the tender quiet hours of the night were theirs even in so sad a fashion.
One night, in the haunted hushed middle of it, the old mother had softly pushed open the door to ask if all went well, and in a whisper Theophil had assured her.

A night-light gave an uncanny shadow-breeding light in the room.

Jenny was sleeping peacefully, her tired ivory face, with her dark elf-locks falling about it, framed on the pillow.

Theophil raised himself softly in his chair and looked at her.

She would sleep some while yet.