"Oh, dear! how tiresome you are!" she cried. "Can't you understand? can't you see that only time and separation can show whether I really and truly care for you?—care for you enough to run counter to all papa's wishes—dear, good old papa, whom I hate to grieve? Nothing would justify my doing this but caring about a man very, very much. I do care for you! There, I have said it. But I don't know how much till I get away from you. When a man is about you, all the time, it is awfully hard to tell exactly how much you care for him. And if my caring doesn't stand this test, depend on it you will be much better without me."
Here Mr. Planter's voice was heard, shouting,
"Clare! Where are you? We are waiting."
Their hands met, and remained clasped a few seconds. Then they turned quickly towards the hotel, where the omnibus was standing, ready laden.
In New York, a fortnight later, on the eve of embarkation, Grace, who had written to Mrs. Courtly to announce her engagement, received the following letter:
"May 1st.
"My dear Miss Ballinger,—Accept my hearty congratulations and best wishes for your happiness. This good news comes to cheer me to-day, when I feel very sad at heart. It was impossible for me to doubt, even on our short acquaintance, that whoever was fortunate enough to win you would be no ordinary man. I rejoice to learn that you have found one to whom you can give, not only your whole heart, but your whole respect and admiration. Poor Quintin Ferrars! It would not have been possible for you to do that, under any circumstances, in his case. He is now free from the terrible millstone which hung round his neck more than ten years. But of what avail is his freedom? He will never marry again. He understood, after his last interview with you, how utterly hopeless his suit was, and he sailed last month for Honolulu. You may not be aware that he studied medicine in early life, and the circumstance of being left a moderate fortune, combined with his taste for literature, alone prevented his following it as a profession. He is now resolved to devote himself, for some years to come, to alleviating, as far as he can, the condition of the unhappy lepers in the islands. I cannot but feel that the change in my cynical and, as many thought, purely selfish friend, is due entirely to you. You first made him feel the uselessness of his life. If knowing you has led him to experience the most poignant grief and disappointment he has ever known, it has also led to the ennobling and purifying of his character. Therefore you have nothing to regret. He is one of the men who are born to be unhappy. But there is a higher and a lower condition of unhappiness. You have opened the valve of sympathy with the suffering of others; that is more healthy than inhaling over and over again the vitiated atmosphere of personal misery.
"And now I come to a far sadder episode.
"I had planned a party of literary friends to meet a few days since, and not having seen Mr. Saul Barham since you were here, I wrote to ask him to Brackly. I did not have an answer for several posts, when a letter came from his mother, whom I did not know, at Fellbridge, saying, 'My son begs me to write to you. He is here with us, very sick, and quite unable to write. He was seized with hemorrhage of the lungs, while passing Sunday with us, a fortnight ago, since when he has not left his bed, he has had two subsequent attacks, and grows weaker daily. I have lost all hope. Knowing what a kind friend you have been to my dear son, I take the liberty of asking if you would come and see him. I think it would be the greatest consolation to him to see you—to see any friend who would communicate with dear Miss Ballinger—before he is taken. Do you know where she is? He talks of her all the time. Even when he is asleep, I can sometimes catch her name upon his lips. You will forgive me, a stranger, for writing like this to you, dear madam, and if you can come here for an hour I shall thank you from the bottom of my heart.'