"If you come back in a day or two, Robert, I'll try and go abroad with you, if you really think it would do you good," said Margaret.
"I'll see about that," he replied. "I cannot quite tell you what my plans are to-night. Meanwhile I find I shall want more money than I have in the house. Have you any by you?"
"I have twenty-five pounds."
"Give it to me; it will be quite sufficient. I have about fifteen pounds here." He touched his breast-pocket. "If I don't return soon I'll write to you. Now good-by, Maggie. Try and conquer that queer delusion, my dear wife. Remember, the more you think of it, the more it will feed upon itself, until you will find it too strong for you. Good-by, darling."
She threw her arms round his neck.
"I cannot describe what my feelings are at this awful moment," she said. "Is it right for me to let you go alone?"
"Perfectly right, dearest. What possible harm can come to me?" he said with tenderness. He pushed back the rich black hair from her brow as he spoke.
"You love me, Robert?" she cried suddenly—"at least your love for me remains?"
He knit his brows.
"If there is any one I love, it is you," he said, "but I do not know that I love any one—it is this inertia, dearest"—he touched his breast—"it buries love beneath it, it buries all emotion. You are not to blame. If I could conquer it my love for you would be as full, as fresh, and strong as ever. Good-by now. Take care of yourself. If those strange symptoms continue pray consult Dr. Rumsey."