“Does that mean that you can be happy here, my Monica?” he asked.
She was always perfectly truthful, and paused a little before answering; yet there was a light in her eyes and a little smile upon her lips.
“It feels very strange,” she said, “and very like a dream. Of course I miss Trevlyn—of course I would rather be there; but——” and here she lifted her eyes with the sweetest glance of trusting confidence. “I know that you know best, Randolph, I know that you judge more wisely than I can do; and that you always think of my happiness first. You have been very, very good to me all this time, far better than I deserve. I am going to be happy here, and when I may go home, I know you will be the first to take me there.”
He laid his hand upon her head in a tender caress.
“I will, indeed, my Monica,” he answered; “but, believe me, for the present you are better here. You will grow strong faster away from Trevlyn than near it.”
She smiled a little, very sweetly.
“I will try to think so, too, Randolph, for I am very sure that you are wiser than I; and I have learned how good you are to me—always.”
That evening passed very quietly, yet very happily.
Was this the beginning of better things to come?