The time came when Pansy was to leave home and mother for the second time, and it was, indeed, a sad parting; yet not as bitter as the first, for then Pansy was going alone into exile, but now there was a strong arm and a brave heart between her and the world.
“Only love me, my poor little darling,” he had answered, gently and gravely, in reply to her expressions of gratitude, and she had promised that she would, while, at the same time, she contrasted his noble soul with that of Norman Wylde.
“One so noble and high-minded, the other so false and cruel! Oh, Heaven help me to tear his image from my weak womanly heart, and enshrine there this good and noble husband!” she prayed passionately.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
PLANS FOR THE FUTURE.
Two months had passed since Colonel Falconer had taken Pansy away from Richmond. They were summering quietly at a little mountain retreat in the Adirondacks, but his mail was sent to Cape May, and, by an arrangement with the postmaster there, was forwarded to him.
He had done this to conceal the place of his residence from Juliette and others, not wishing that any prying eyes should intrude upon their seclusion, for Pansy was still weak and delicate, and her nerves had been sadly shattered by the trying scenes she had gone through.
They had taken a little cottage in the mountains, and, with Phebe and a few servants, were keeping house in a simple, quiet way, waiting for the roses to come back to Pansy’s cheeks, that the colonel might leave her long enough to return to Virginia and settle up his business, preparatory to taking up his future residence in Europe.
“You will not take Juliette with us? She hates me, and every word and glance has a sting for me. She suspects my identity, in spite of all my denials,” pleaded Pansy.
“She shall not go with us,” he said; then a thoughtful frown came between his dark eyebrows. “But what under heaven shall I do with her?” he asked.
“Let her stay in the house on Franklin Street with a chaperon,” answered Pansy readily.