It is as if she belonged to that
sky, and only tarried as unable to detach herself from the clasp of
the strong hand round and in which both her hands are twined; and
though the light in her face may be from heaven, yet the whole
countenance is fixed in one absorbed, almost worshipping gaze of her
husband, with a wistful simplicity and innocence on devotion, like
the absorption of a loving animal, to whom its master's presence is
bliss and sunshine. It is a picture to make light in a dark place,
and that sweet face receives a loving glance, nay, an absolutely
reverent bend of the knightly head, as the Baron seats himself.
"So it was as we feared, and this Schmalkaldic League did not suit
thy sense of loyalty, my son?" she asks, reading his features
anxiously.
"No, mother. I ever feared that further pressure would drive our
friends beyond the line where begin schism and rebellion; and it
seems to me that the moment is come when I must hold me still, or
transgress mine own sense of duty. I must endure the displeasure of
many I love and respect.
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