“Not yet, Standish,” she whispered. “Do not say anything to me—no, nothing—yet. But you will write every week, and tell me how the Castaway people are getting on, until we come out to you at the islands.”
“Daireen, do all the days we have passed together at home—on the lough—on the mountain, go for nothing?” he cried almost sadly. “Oh, my darling, surely we cannot part in this way. Your life is not wrecked.”
“No, no, not wrecked,” she said with a start, and he knew she was struggling to be strong.
“You will be happy, Daireen, you will indeed, after a while. And you will give me a word of hope now—one little word to make me happy.”
She looked at him—tearfully—lovingly. “Dear Standish, I can only give you one word. Will it comfort you at all if I say Hope, Standish?”
“My darling, my love! I knew it would come right in the end. The world I knew could not be so utterly forsaken by God but that everything should come right.”
“It is only one word I have given you,” she said.
“But what a word, Daireen! oh, the dearest and best word I ever heard breathed. God bless you, darling! God bless you!”
He did not make any attempt to kiss her: he only held her white hand tightly for an instant and looked into her pure, loving eyes.
“Now, my boy, good-bye,” said Colonel Gerald, laying his hand upon Standish's shoulder. “You will leave next week for the Castaways, and you will, I know, be careful to obey to the letter the directions of those in command until I come out to you. You must write a complete diary, as I told you—ah, there goes the gun! Daireen, here is Mr. Harwood waiting to shake hands with you.”