The young man knelt down by his wife's bed.
"What is it, darling?" he asked.
"You know what we said to–day, Edward?"
"What, darling? We say so many things every day––we are so happy together, and have so much to talk about."
"But you remember, Edward,––you remember what I said about never seeing the Sycamores? Ah! don't stop me, dear love," Mary said reproachfully, for Edward put his lips to hers to stay the current of mournful words,––"don't stop me, dear, for I must speak to you. I want you to know that it must be, Edward darling. I want you to remember how happy I have been, and how willing I am to part with you, dear, since it is God's will that we should be parted. And there is something else that I want to say, Edward. Grandmamma told me something––all about Belinda. I want you to promise me that Belinda shall be happy by–and–by; for she has suffered so much, poor girl! And you will love her, and she will love the baby. But you won't love her quite the same way that you loved me, will you, dear? because you never knew her when she was a little child, and very poor. She has never been an orphan, and quite lonely, as I have been. You have never been all the world to her."
* * * * *
The Sycamores was finished by the following midsummer, but no one took possession of the newly–built house; no brisk upholsterer's men came, with three–foot rules and pencils and memorandum–books, to take measurements of windows and floors; no wagons of splendid furniture made havoc of the gravel–drive before the principal entrance. The only person who came to the new house was a snuff–taking crone from Stanfield, who brought a turn–up bedstead, a Dutch clock, and a few minor articles of furniture, and encamped in a corner of the best bedroom.
Edward Arundel, senior, was away in India, fighting under Napier and Outram; and Edward Arundel, junior, was at Dangerfield, under the charge of his grandmother.
Perhaps the most beautiful monument in one of the English cemeteries at Nice is that tall white marble cross and kneeling figure, before which strangers pause to read an inscription to the memory of Mary, the beloved wife of Edward Dangerfield Arundel.