He must love her, she felt, or he could not have spoken as he had.
Only a few more hours, then, and the suspense would be at an end. The wedding-breakfast over, dresses changed, the carriage would be in waiting to convey them to the station. They were to pass the first night in London, and depart by tidal boat the next morning for Paris, Marseilles, Hyères, Genoa, Rome—a month of pleasant touring in Southern Europe; and in that period old sorrows would be forgotten, and her husband’s heart would have warmed to her.
But still Laura trembled, for she had been gambling for a great stake.
Had she won?
It seemed so; for once more he repeated those words, “Good-night, for the last parting!” as they stood in the hall.
“But you’ll have to put up with me, my dear!” said Sir Philip, kissing Laura in his turn; “but I won’t bother you—I won’t interfere in any way—only let me have my study fire in the cold weather; and don’t stop away from home too long. I say so now, because I shall have no chance to-morrow. There, good-bye!”
They were gone; and, proud and elate, Laura returned to the drawing-room. The victory was nearly won, and the happy congratulatory looks of friends and those who were to act as her bridesmaids seemed to be mirrored in her face, as they clustered laughingly round her—Mrs Bray forbearing to shriek, and little pudgy Mr Bray disregarding her evening dress as he caught her in his arms, to give her a sounding kiss on either cheek.
Meanwhile Sir Philip and Charley were returning in their carriage to Blandfield: the former light-hearted and chatty, the latter quiet, but apparently content. He had weighed all well, and pondered the matter again and again, and still his heart told him that it was his duty. The faint spark of his old passion, as he called it, that would still keep showing, in spite of his efforts to crush it out, he told himself would soon be extinct—hiding the fact that that spark was a consuming fire that was not even smouldering, but though concealed, eating its way fiercely to the light.
“Good-night; heaven bless you, my dear boy!” said Sir Philip, as he stood, candle in hand, in the hall. “It will be hard work sparing you, Charley; for I’m an old man now, and growing feeble, and in want of humouring. You may have your month, but don’t exceed it.”
Charley did not answer; but shook his father’s hand warmly, and they parted.