His hand had grasped hers as he murmured these words through the window.
“Oh, Ry, darling—I’m so happy—you must let Tom ride the horse on, and do you come in and sit here, and Dulcibella can take my cloaks and sit by the driver. Come, darling, I want to hear everything.”
And so this little arrangement was completed, as she said, and Charles Fairfield sat himself beside his beautiful young wife, and as they drove on through the moonlit scene, he pressed her hand and kissed her lovingly.
CHAPTER XI.
HOME.
“Oh, darling, I can scarcely believe it,” she murmured, smiling, and gazing up with her large soft eyes into his, “it seems to me like heaven that I can look, and speak, and say everything without danger, or any more concealment, and always have my Ry with me—never to be separated again, you know, darling, while we live.”
“Poor little woman,” said he, fondly, looking down with an answering smile, “she does love me a little bit, I think.”
“And Ry loves his poor little bird, doesn’t he?”
“Adores her—idolatry—idolatry.”
“And we’ll be so happy!”
“I hope so, darling.”