Chaste as Ice, Pure as Snow: A Novel

by C. Despard

"Oh, please let me have it," cried the child. She took the letter from the hand of L'Estrange, sat down before the table, and copied the address, letter by letter, in her large childish handwriting, her friend spelling it over for her that there might be no mistake. Then she folded up the paper and clasped it in both hands. "Mon père," she said, "I will never lose it."

In the practical action Laura's dreamy fears had fled. Hope, the hope of a young child, reasserted itself once more. "I will show it to mamma," she said, "and we'll come together to see you; then perhaps—"

She was interrupted by a knock at the door. Her father was outside waiting for admittance.

As might have been expected, Maurice Grey had lost no time in making all needful preparation for their journey to England. He was in a fever of anxiety to be moving once more, to be on his way to his injured wife, to assure himself of her forgiveness and continued love. And there had been certain points in the story told by Arthur which had alarmed him. Margaret's poverty: the thought of this gave him perhaps the keenest pang he had experienced. He could not understand it, for, as has already been seen, Maurice Grey was not exactly to blame for this; but in his after review of all the circumstances he blamed himself bitterly for what he now looked upon as his own weak-minded folly in preserving this total silence. He had thought of his own pain in the event of all his fears receiving fatal confirmation, and his wife, so tenderly reared, had been suffering.

Then her delicacy, the sudden collapse of her powers. The thought of this was almost too hard to be borne, for if—if there should be disappointment before him—if he could never ask her forgiveness for the cruel wrong he had committed, never hold her again to his heart, never let her know how deeply through it all he had loved her—the man felt as if it would be better even to die himself. The bare idea maddened him.

He would willingly have cut through the air to reach her, and the necessary delay chafed his spirit. Since the moment of their return to the hotel the Englishman had been busy in making every preparation for departure.

Happily for him, the season had not yet entirely closed. Sledges would have to be used in various parts of the journey, and guides and drivers would probably require to be highly feed; but this was a matter of very small import. All he desired was speed. Arthur seconded his efforts ably. As the diligence had ceased running between Grindelwald and Interlachen, and the steamers no longer made their daily journey on the lake, a visit to Interlachen had been necessary, that special arrangements might be made as well for this as for their further journey; the railway connecting Thun with Berne had not then been completed.

It was arranged that Arthur should act as courier, preceding them to Thun to have relays prepared, and that Maurice should return to Grindelwald for Laura.

The child had not seen him since their journey through the snow from his solitary chalet in the mountains. She was a little shy of this new father, though inclined, as she had expressed herself to L'Estrange, to think that she should love him.

The fact was, that Laura, too much given to reason upon every point, could not quite reconcile to herself his love for her mother and his long absence. This had tormented the little one considerably during these last days. She took his caresses that morning very calmly. She would have run away then and left her father and friend alone together, but L'Estrange detained her. She obeyed his gesture and sat down again by his side.