She bent her head and kissed him.
“Yes, Arthur,” she answered, softly. “I love him with all my heart.”
“Just as he loves you,” murmured Arthur. “I can see it in his face, in every tone of his voice, especially when he talks of you—which is pretty nearly always—we both like it so much. I am so glad you feel just the same. I thought you did. I shall like to think about you so—how happy you will be!”
The next day after Arthur had been placed in the carriage that was to take him away from Trevlyn, and Monica had said her last adieu to him, and had turned away with pale face and quivering lips, she felt her hands taken in her husband’s strong warm clasp.
“Monica,” he said tenderly, “good-bye. I will take every care of him. You shall hear everything, and shall not regret, if I can help it, trusting him to me.”
Monica looked up suddenly into his face, and put her arms about his neck. She did not care at that moment for the presence of Tom or of the servants. Her husband was leaving her—she had only thoughts for him.
“Take care of yourself, Randolph,” she said, her voice quivering, and almost breaking. “Take care of yourself, and come back to me as quickly as you can. I shall miss you, oh! so much, till I have you safe home again. Good-bye, dear husband, good-bye!”
He held her for a moment in his arms. His heart beat tumultuously; for an instant everything seemed to recede, and leave him and his wife alone in the world together; but it was no time now to indulge in raptures. He kissed her brow and lips, and gently unloosed her clasp.
“Good-bye, my wife,” he said gently. “God bless and keep you always.”