"Edward, Edward," she sobbed, clinging convulsively about the young man's neck, "don't leave me––don't leave me!"
"Will you go with me to India, then, Mary?"
She lifted her head suddenly, and looked her husband in the face, with the gladness in her eyes shining through her tears, like an April sun through a watery sky.
"I would go to the end of the world with you, my own darling," she said; "the burning sands and the dreadful jungles would have no terrors for me, if I were with you, Edward."
Captain Arundel smiled at her earnestness.
"I won't take you into the jungle, my love," he answered, playfully; "or if I do, your palki shall be well guarded, and all ravenous beasts kept at a respectful distance from my little wife. A great many ladies go to India with their husbands, Polly, and come back very little the worse for the climate or the voyage; and except your money, there is no reason you should not go with me."
"Oh, never mind my money; let anybody have that."
"Polly," cried the soldier, very seriously, "we must consult Richard Paulette as to the future. I don't think I did right in marrying you during his absence; and I have delayed writing to him too long, Polly. Those letters must be written this afternoon."
"The letter to Mr. Paulette and to your father?"
"Yes; and the letter to my cousin Olivia."