It was
the hour of destiny, when one word decides the future of many lives,
for good or evil.
'Thank God!' Greif exclaimed in a low voice. He put out his hand and
took hers. 'I will never ask you again, dear,' he said presently. 'It
was hard to believe, it seemed as though I ought not to believe it.'
In spite of all, there was a happy light in his eyes, as he turned them
to her and gazed into her face. After all, the terrible things told in
the letter had happened long ago, and he was young, in the midst of a
glorious present, in the very midst of all that love and happiness
could give. It would be many a long year before he could think calmly
of the hideous secret, and perhaps his whole life from that day would
be more thoughtful and serious than it had been. But it was not in the
power of an evil fate to follow him further than that. The curse of the
Greifensteins, as people a hundred years ago would have called that
strange chain of circumstances in which his race had been involved, had
run its course, and had spent itself in the conflict with a woman's
love. Beyond that there was nothing but the smooth haven of rest, which
no blast of evil could ruffle, and into which no overwhelming wave of
calamity could break.
Greif scarcely knew how it was that the struggle ended, nor why, when
it was over, he felt that he had not lost the day. But nevertheless, it
was so, and peace descended upon his soul. For a long time neither he
nor Hilda spoke.
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