"Indeed you will not. It will be almost night when I leave this, and the frost is like iron."
"Neither the night nor the frost will kill me. Do you think I will not give you your last breakfast? God bless you, dear."
And on the following morning she did give him his breakfast by candle-light, and went down with him to the station. The morning was black, and the frost was, as he had said, as hard as iron, but she was thoroughly good-humoured, and apparently happy. "It has been so much to me to have you here, that I might tell you everything," she said. "You will understand me now."
"I understand, but I know not how to believe," he said.
"You do believe. You would be worse than a Jew if you did not believe me. But you understand also. I want you to marry, and you must tell her all the truth. If I can I will love her almost as much as I do you. And if I live to see them, I will love your children as dearly as I do you. Your children shall be my children;—or at least one of them shall be mine. You will tell me when it is to be."
"If I ever intend such a thing, I will tell you."
"Now, good-bye. I shall stand back there till the train starts, but do not you notice me. God bless you, Phineas." She held his hand tight within her own for some seconds, and looked into his face with an unutterable love. Then she drew down her veil, and went and stood apart till the train had left the platform.
"He has gone, Papa," Lady Laura said, as she stood afterwards by her father's bedside.
"Has he? Yes; I know he was to go, of course. I was very glad to see him, Laura."
"So was I, Papa;—very glad indeed. Whatever happens to him, we must never lose sight of him again."