“I am progressing slowly,” Lady Enid replied, in a quiet voice, though the flush on her cheeks deepened; “it must be another week yet, Nugent, before I can think of starting.”
“A week will soon pass,” the earl responded, tenderly, not noticing her labored manner—“a week, and then, Enid, my darling, we shall return to the home where we were so happy, to the haunts you loved! My life shall henceforth be spent for you and with you, as of old.”
Lady Enid put her hand on her brother’s.
“You do not dread it?” she whispered.
“All dread is gone—it is buried in the past,” he answered, firmly, looking into her eyes.
Lady Enid sighed, and Margery entered the room as he released her hand.
“You have been putting some flowers in my room, Miss Daw; that is kind of you.”
“I did not know you liked flowers, Lord Court,” she answered, with the grave smile that never brought any light to her eyes. “I will remember in future.”
“I like all that is beautiful,” he said, involuntarily; then, turning to his sister—“Enid, let us celebrate my return. You have not driven out for weeks. Can you bear the fatigue to-day?”
“Yes,” replied Lady Enid, with a gleam of delight. “I shall enjoy it.”