"But you can't leave milor like that, my child," he protested once more. "He will be lonely and miserable without you."
"Yes. I think he will," she said wistfully. "But he will be all the happier when you are well again, and I can return to Combwich satisfied."
Whereupon M. le duc yielded. He kissed and thanked his daughter and seemed even relieved at the prospect of her company. The barouche was ordered for eleven o'clock, and a quarter of an hour before that time Lord Tony had his young wife in his arms, bidding her a sad farewell.
"I hate your going from me, sweetheart," he said as he kissed her eyes, her hair, her lips. "I cannot bear you out of my sight even for an hour ... let alone a couple of days."
"Yet I must go, dear heart," she retorted, looking up with that sweet, grave smile of hers into his eager young face. "I could not let him travel alone ... could I?"
"No, no," he assented somewhat dubiously, "but remember, dear heart, that you are infinitely precious and that I shall scarce live for sheer anxiety until I have you here, safe, once more in my arms."
"I'll send you a courier this evening," she rejoined, as she extricated herself gently from his embrace, "and if I can come back to-morrow...."
"I'll ride over to Bath in any case in the morning so that I may escort you back if you really can come."
"I will come if I am reassured about father. Oh, my dear lord," she added with a wistful little sigh, "I knew yesterday morning that I was too happy, and that something would happen to mar the perfect felicity of these last few days."
"You are not seriously anxious about M. le duc's health, dear heart?"