Maurice had been moved on to a sofa by the open window, and Caroline was sitting by his side talking to him, as she had sat and talked for days past. By and bye—she never afterwards remembered quite how—her hand was lying in his, and they were looking into one another's eyes, with a meaning infinitely tender and trustful. There was nobody in the world but their two selves, and they both knew it, without any necessity for words. Caroline's time had come. She had not known it until that moment, but she knew it now without the shadow of a doubt, and accepted it with complete surrender.
[CHAPTER XVI]
MAURICE
Grafton had gone up to London on Monday morning, and would not be back until Friday evening. Caroline wrote to him on Tuesday morning. Maurice also wrote to him. There was no reply to either of the letters. Caroline had told him that she should tell no one else until she heard from him, or saw him.
She motored to the station to meet him. Her heart was heavy, but beneath her dread of what was coming was a deep calm and assurance. There were to have been guests at the Abbey over the week-end, but a telegram had been received to say that they had been put off. That was all that she had heard from her father, though when he had been away for the whole working week he had always written to her at least once.
He gave her his usual greeting when he got out of the train—"Well, my darling!" and kissed her. The kiss was, if anything, warmer than usual, and she felt an immense lift of love and gratitude towards him. If he had brought himself to accept it! She had hardly dared to hope for that.
He had brought some cases down, and she stood with her arm in his while he gave instructions about them. Then they got into the car and drove off.
"I didn't write, darling," he said immediately, "because it wanted a lot of thinking about, and some getting used to. It was quite a surprise to me. You say it was to you, too. Are you quite sure about it?"