Love's Home and Andrew Sevier

And the Sabbath quiet which had descended on the frost-jeweled city
the morning after the hunt found the Buchanan household still deep in
close-shuttered sleep. Their fatigue demanded and was having its way in
the processes of recuperation and they all slept on serenely.

Only Caroline Darrah was astir with the first deep notes of the early
morning bells. Her awaking had come with a rush of pure, bubbling,
unalloyed joy which turned her cheeks the hue of the rose, starred her
eyes and melted her lips into heavenly curves. In her exquisite innocence
it never dawned upon her that the moments spent in Andrew's arms under
the winter moon were any but those of rapturous betrothal and her love
had flowered in confident happiness. It was well that she caught across
the distance no hint of the battle that was being waged in the heart of
Andrew Sevier, for the man in him fought (for her) with what he deemed
his honor, almost to the death--but not quite, for some men hold as honor
that which is strong sinewed with self-control, red blooded with courage,
infiltrated with pride and ruthlessly cruel.

And so Caroline hummed David's little serenade to herself as she dressed
without Annette's assistance and smiled at her own radiance reflected at
her from her mirrors. She had just completed a most ravishing church
toilet when she heard the major's door close softly and she knew that now
she would find him before his logs awaiting breakfast.

She blushed another tone more rosy and her eyes grew shy at the very
thought of meeting his keen eyes that always quizzed her with such
delight after one of her initiations into the sports or gaieties of this
new country. But assuming her courage with her prayer-book, she softly
descended the stairs, crossed the hall and stood beside his chair with a
laugh of greeting.