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Re[8]: Love is a canvas furnished by Nature and embroidered by imagination



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father, till then dearer than all the world.  At one moment she
was horrified at this indifference, at another she rejoiced at
what had brought her to this indifference.  She could not frame a
thought, not a wish apart from life with this man; but this new
life was not yet, and she could not even picture it clearly to
herself.  There was only anticipation, the dread and joy of the
new and the unknown.  And now behold--anticipation and
uncertainty and remorse at the abandonment of the old life--all
was ending, and the new was beginning.  This new life could not
but have terrors for her inexperience; but, terrible or not, the
change had been wrought six weeks before in her soul, and this
was merely the final sanction of what had long been completed in
her heart.



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