“All the more reason, Arnold, I should be near you, that we should be near each other. No, dear, I have thought of it all, planned it all; and if your colonel will but permit Captain Lyle’s wife to be among the chosen few who accompany their gallant husbands to the seat of war, I shall rejoice, and you may believe me when I say our children shall not be unhappy.”
Captain Lyle put his arm around her, and drew her closer towards him.
“I never refused any request you made, Ethel, and if the colonel, as you say, will but permit, I will not refuse you this.”
“Oh, thank you, Arnold! thank your kind and good unselfish heart. You have indeed taken a load off mine. I feel happy now, I feel younger, Arnold; for truly I was beginning to grow old.”
She laughed a half-hysteric laugh of joy.
“You may read to me now,” she added, re-seating herself in the high-backed chair, “and it can be all about war if you like.”
He took up the book and commenced at random—
“’Tis merry, ’tis merry, in Fairyland,
When fairy birds are singing,
When the court doth ride by their monarch’s side,
With bit and bridle ringing.
And gaily shines the Fairyland.”
Captain Lyle got no further just then. Hurried steps were heard in the hall, the door was thrown unceremoniously open, and in rushed old Peter the butler, pale as death, and wringing his shining hands.
“Augh!” he gasped, clutching at the wall, “they’ve done it noo! They’ve done it noo! Oh that I should hae lived to see this day o’ wreck and ruin to the old hoose o’ Lyle. Ochone! ochone! o-chrie!”