He looked thin, gaunt, and pale, and anon the expression of his eye grew doubtful and cloudy.
'Florian!' exclaimed Dulcie in a piercing voice, in which something of upbraiding blended with tones of surprise and grief; and yet the fact of his presence seemed so unreal that she lingered for a moment before she flung herself into his arms, and was clasped to his breast. 'Oh, what is the meaning of this dress?' she asked, lifting her face and surveying him again.
'It means that I am a soldier—like him whose son I thought myself—a soldier of the Warwickshire Regiment,' replied Florian with some bitterness of tone.
'Oh, my God, and has it come to this!' said Dulcie wringing her interlaced fingers. 'Could not Shafto—your cousin——'
'Shafto cast me off—seemed as if he could not get rid of me too soon.'
'How cruel, when he might have done so much for you, to use you so!'
'I had no other resort, Dulcie; I would not stoop to seek favours even from him, and our paths in life will never cross each other again; but a time may come—I know not when—in which I may seek forgiveness of enemies as well as friends—the bad and the good together—for a soldier's life is one of peril.'
'Of horror—to me!' wailed Dulcie, weeping freely on his breast.
'This tenderness is strange, Dulcie! Why did you cast me off in my utter adversity and return to me my locket?'
Dulcie looked up in astonishment.