All these events of which I have written at such length were done with many a day ago: the hornbeam sapling that I set beneath these windows in the year when we were married is now a goodly tree of shade and still I live to look on it.

Here in the happy valley of the Waveney, save for my bitter memories and that longing for the dead which no time can so much as dull, year after year has rolled over my silvering hairs in perfect health and peace and rest, and year by year have I rejoiced more deeply in the true love of a wife such as few have known.

For it would seem as though the heart-ache and despair of youth had but sweetened that most noble nature till it grew well nigh divine.

But one sorrow came to us, the death of our infant child--for it was fated that I should die childless--and in that sorrow, as I have told, Lily shewed that she was still a woman.

For the rest no shadow lay between us.