“And one of these days he’ll come, dear, like the good prince in the fairy tale, all rich and handsome, as my darling brother always was, and marry my own dear Rich, and make her happy again.”
“Please God, yes!” said Richmond once more; and this time there was resignation, and despair so plainly marked that her companion flung her arms about her neck and began to sob.
“Rich, dear Rich, don’t, pray don’t, or you’ll drive me half mad. I’ve all my lessons to give to-day. And my hand will tremble, and I shall be so unnerved that I can do nothing.”
“Janet dear, I try so hard not to despair, but the weary months roll by, and it is two years now since you have had a line.”
“Yes, but what of that? Perhaps he is where there are no post-offices, or perhaps he is not getting on; and, poor boy, he is too proud to write till he is doing better. Why, he has only been away four years.”
“Four years!” said Richmond sadly; “is it only four years?”
“That’s all, dear, though it has seemed like eight, and we will not despair, even though it is so hard to bear. Why, Rich, I feel sometimes when I kneel down at night that if he were dead I should know it; he would not let us go on suffering if it were so.”
“Janet dear, I feel sometimes as if it was wrong to have loved him.”
“What, dear Mark?”
“Yes.”