"If you should be obliged to do that—if I cannot see you again," said Rachel, "when will you come back?"
"I will come back in—let me see, this is October—in two months. I will be back at Christmas. I should have liked to see your uncle to-morrow, just that there should be no mistake about what I mean to do; but if you think it will make things harder for you, I won't, of course. You shall just tell Kingston what you like, and the rest of them I will enlighten when I come. By that time he will be out of the way and done with, and we shall have a straight road before us."
"Yes," said Rachel, sighing; "I think that will be best. And perhaps, by that time, Aunt Elizabeth will let you in."
"If she doesn't, I shall bombard the house."
"You will be sure to be back at Christmas?"
"If I am alive, dear, and a free agent—certainly. And I shall find you ready for me then?"
"Oh, yes!"
With this compact between them, and the giving to Rachel of her lover's town address, and very explicit directions as to where she might find him at any given hour when she might happen to want him until the day of his departure, they kissed one clinging, lingering kiss in motionless silence, and bade one another—though they did not know it—a long farewell.
"Which is your window, Rachel? Can I see it from here?"
She pointed to it in silence, it was very distinct just now in the moonshine, between two dark pine trees. She was crying a little, and she could not speak.