He had been absent almost a year now, and they had corresponded in a desultory fashion, when suddenly he received the letter of recall, telling him she was well and beautiful again, and he must return, because her heart was breaking to see him once more.
Laurier’s heart was touched by her faithful love, and he reproached himself for the way he had neglected her letters, often not answering them for weeks, almost forgetting her existence in the indifference that had stolen over him and made him wish in secret that something would happen to break the irksome bond that fettered his changed heart.
Many a man would not have hesitated to own that he had ceased to love, and claimed his freedom from her hands, but not so Laurier, who prided himself on his honor, and pitied Cora too sincerely to wound her loving heart.
Doubt’s cruel whisper shall not break the spell,
Oh, thou whom to deceive is to befriend;
All shall be well with thee until the end,
Until the end believing all is well!
He was going home to marry her and make her as happy as he could. For himself it did not matter greatly. Even if his heart was cold to her, she had at least no living rival, and that must suffice.
That evening when he came on deck—the young men had persuaded him—begging him to come and listen to the sweet voice singing in the moonlight, the voice of a girl as lovely as an angel, but with such a selfish, cruel papa that he would not permit any of them to approach within arm’s length.
“I wish you would storm the citadel of her heart, Laurier, and avenge us!” laughed one.