Rachel Ray

by Anthony Trollope

"My own Rachel! And now tell me one thing: are you happy?"

"So happy!"

"My own one!"

"But, Luke,—I have been wretched;—so wretched! I thought you would never come back to me."

"And did that make you wretched?"

"Ah!—did it? What do you think yourself? When I wrote that letter to you I knew I had no right to expect that you would think of me again."

"But how could I help thinking of you when I loved you?"

"And then when mamma saw you in Exeter, and you sent me no word of message!"

"I was determined to send none till this business was finished."

"Ah! that was cruel. But you did not understand. I suppose no man can understand. I couldn't have believed it myself till—till after you had gone away. It seemed as though all the sun had deserted us, and that everything was cold and dark."