Then Lady Bassett told Sir Charles of her visit to London, and her calling on Mr. Rolfe.
He looked blank at his wife calling on a bachelor; but her description of the man, his age, and his simplicity, reconciled him to that; and when she told him the plan and order of campaign Mr. Rolfe had given her he approved it very earnestly.
He fastened in particular on something that Mr. Rolfe had dwelt lightly on. “Dear as the sight of you is to me, sweet as the sound of your loved voice is to my ears and my heart, I would rather not see you again until our hopes are realized than jeopardize that.”
Lady Bassett sighed, for this seemed rather morbid. Sir Charles went on: “So think of your own health first, and avoid agitations. I am tormented with fear lest that monster should take advantage of my absence to molest you. If he does, leave Huntercombe. Yes, leave it; go to London; go, even for my sake; my health and happiness depend on you; they cannot be much affected by anything that happens here. 'Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage.'”
Lady Bassett promised, but said she could not keep away from him, and he must often write to her. She gave him Rolfe's formula, and told him all letters would pass that praised the asylum.
Sir Charles made a wry face.
Lady Bassett's wrist went round his neck in a moment. “Oh, Charles, dear, for my sake—hold a little, little candle to the devil. Mr. Rolfe says we must. Oblige me in this—I am not so noble as you—and then I'll be very good and obedient in what your heart is set upon.”
At last Sir Charles consented.
Then they made haste, and told each other everything that had happened, and it was late in the afternoon before they parted.
Lady Bassett controlled her tears at parting as well as she could.