"MY DEAR FULVIA,—Words can never say what I owe to you. It seems that you are determined to heap coals of fire upon our heads,—upon mine especially.
"You shall have your will. I can only submit to your generosity. I would say much more if I knew how to say it; but perhaps you will understand.—Ever your affectionate and grateful N. B."
* * * * * * *
Three months ended, the travellers returned.
It was a drizzling autumn afternoon, much like that on which Nigel had come home from his year of travel.
As the train stopped, Nigel's face appeared. Fulvia had known that it must be so, and she had schooled herself to meet him composedly. One throb her heart gave, but she smiled a quiet greeting. Ethel was very still. Nigel's eyes went to her face in a swift flash.
"How many trunks?" he asked.
"Pollard is there. Daisy and I will see that he has them all right," said Fulvia, turning away.
Nigel was left by Ethel's side, for the moment practically alone with her. Nobody else was near, for few people had come by this train. It was growing very dusk. He took her hand into his warm clasp.
"Ethel, are you well again?"
"Oh, quite. And Fulvia has been so good to me,—so very good and loving."