"I wonder if you guess why I have come home? By night and day your presence has been with me. I have closed my eyes and pictured you before me; I have dreamed so often that a rustle of your gown in passing, a whispered call, told me that you were with me. I got heart-sick for a sight of you, the sound of your voice. Oh, Sidney, sweetest, will you let me tell you how I long to take care of you for the rest of your life? You have been spending your life in looking after others, will you let me look after you? I want to love you, to guard you, to make it my one business in life to make you happy. Do you think I shall be able to do it? Will you trust yourself entirely to me?"
Sidney's hands trembled in his. Her lips quivered. Though this was an exquisite moment in her life, her eyes were blinded by a mist of tears. She allowed his strong arm to come round her, and with a little happy sigh leant her head against his shoulder.
"Oh!" she said softly. "If you have wanted me, I have wanted you. I believe I have missed you every day since you went."
"And I you. Do you remember, darling, the first night we came to dine at The Anchorage—Monica and I? You were standing outside the door, looking like some ethereal being who had come to earth, met with bitter disappointment and disillusion, and was already poised for flight. Your soul seemed reaching out to heaven. That picture of you has never left my heart. And now I will confess to you that same evening I discovered your trouble. Do you remember coming down to the river just before you left Lady Fielding's, and calling out in the anguish of your heart: 'Oh, God! Teach me to forget!' I was an unwilling listener, for I had just arrived, thought nobody was in, and was lying under the wall in a boat. And you uttered the words that were hammering away in my own brain. I had that morning received the same shock as you had, and was in great bitterness of soul. When I heard you sing, it flashed across me that I had heard your voice before, and then I remembered."
Sidney lowered her head a little.
"That dreadful day I hardly know what I did, and how I got home to father. Oh, it was dreadful! But it is past. Don't let us think of it. How wonderful it was that we were brought together! How strange that we each should have been dealt the same blow!"
"Yes, Fate plays many tricks, does she not? Oh, Sidney! Sweetheart, I can hardly believe I have won you! How often when I was here before, I longed to chase the sadness out of your eyes! How I have prayed for this moment to hold you in my arms, and tell you how I loved you! The time has been sweetened out abroad by your letters; I have carried them about; I have slept with them under my pillow. I have learnt them by heart, and kissed the writing night and morning, but they're a poor exchange after all for you, yourself. I got foolishly jealous at one time of young Austin. I was glad when you told me that he had gone abroad. It was torture to me when you left your home, and I knew that you had no longer any man to care for you or protect you. I know I'm out of date; but, thank God, you are! You don't want to go through life alone and independent, do you? You will be content to come to me, and let me have the joy of caring for you?"
Sidney's murmured assent was hardly needed. She felt the exquisite rest of soul that a good and strong man's love brings to one. She believed in him and she loved him. He would never disappoint her.
Presently she released herself, but the farm buildings were forgotten. They wandered round in the twilight talking over their letters, their experiences, their need of each other; and when they at last returned to the house, Monica received them in her matter-of-fact fashion.
"I am sure you have never been near my buildings. Well, it served its purpose, and now accept my congratulations. You are a very lucky man, Randolph, to have won her heart. But I don't like the idea of you carrying her off from us all. How shall we get on without her?"