"Well, Walter," said Sir Cæsar, without rising for any more formal greeting, "we're to be off a good deal sooner than I had expected. I've had a telegram to say that the Warings, who were going by next week's steamer, are detained by one of the children taking the measles, so that their cabins are vacant. It's not a chance to be lost, though it rather hurries our movements; but it's worth a push to get out of this heat. So Flora and I will be off in a week. Don't look so startled, my good friend. I mean you to come with us, and we'll take Italy in our way."
"Oh, yes; it will delight you to see the art-treasures of Venice, Rome, and Florence," cried Flora. "Certainly, you must come with us."
The conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Captain Mills, an officer invited to breakfast.
A native servant in livery, bright with scarlet and gold, but with shoeless feet, announced that the meal was on the table; and Flora led the way into the room, in which was spread a luxurious repast served by half-a-dozen attendants.
Walter was unusually silent. The tidings of the sudden departure had struck like a knell in his heart. Sir Cæsar talked enough for both; he was full of his projected Italian tour.
Soon after the conclusion of the lengthened breakfast, the bells began to chime for Divine service, and in due course of time the party proceeded to the stately-looking church. Walter took his accustomed place behind Flora in the choir. Was it for the last time? he thought, with a pang; or might he not avail himself of Sir Cæsar's offer, as he had now an uncle's home to visit in England? The young man was dazzled by the brightness of the prospect opening before him, yet felt—had there been no other reason against his going—that it was undesirable to travel as a pensioner on Sir Cæsar's bounty.
It was exceedingly difficult for Walter to keep his attention to the prayers; he tried to do so, but scarcely succeeded. But it was very different when the organ pealed forth the first hymn. This hymn was a great favourite with Flora, who poured forth in it her splendid voice without giving a thought to the meaning of the words. But the words were to Walter the very soul of the hymn, merely clothed with a musical body.
"Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee,
E'en though it be a cross
That raiseth me."
Walter could not sing that verse at that moment; he felt that it would be a mockery to offer that prayer in which his rebellious heart did not join; it would be an act of hypocrisy, for he saw plainly the cross before him, and he shrank from taking it up. To him, at that crisis in his life, the mountain fort in Afghanistan appeared much as the burning fiery furnace must have appeared to the three young Jews. Flora missed the familiar voice behind her, which had hitherto ever blended so harmoniously with her own.
After leaving the church, Walter declined Sir Cæsar's invitation to come home with him to tiffin. He had sometimes shared that meal, but had never joined in the Sunday drive, or the Sunday dinner-party. Walter felt that he must be alone; he could never exercise a calm judgment on such a matter as the important decision before him, under the fascination of Flora's presence.