She promised. They strolled together to the gate, where his horse waited, and parted with cordiality. Poor old Joey!
*****
In ten days, Virginia was allowed to put her feet to the ground; and the following day, which was Sunday, she elected to go to church. Dr. Dymock told her that it would do her good, but that, if she went, she must put up with her husband's company during service. It would be humiliating him too deeply to ask him to allow her to appear for the first time in public without him. Somewhat eloquently, the doctor put before her the conduct of Gaunt—his wonderful self-denial. She listened with drooped lids, and said nothing. In her heart she wondered what the speaker would say if she were to look up and say straight out: "He does not love me; he hates me. He is waiting for me to be well in order that he may persecute me."
No doubt he would call it hysterical raving.
When he was gone, she fell to her usual occupation of wondering what form Gaunt's cruelty was likely to take, when she should be strong enough to submit to it. She dared only look forward to the immediate future. If she tried to go beyond, to face the prospect of a whole life-time of captivity, under the gaolership of this extraordinary man, she found her brain reeling. There was a subject which preoccupied her mind at this time; otherwise her speculations might have travelled farther. The question of Pansy's cure was the one thing of which she thought, night and day. The accounts which she regularly received were cheerful, but not what she had hoped. They were vague—disappointing. "The doctor thought, with patience, they would see some real improvement." Some improvement! When she hoped for a complete cure. "There was distinctly less temperature during the past twenty-four hours." But why was there temperature at all? Was the new treatment setting up a temperature? She knew enough of nursing and sickness to understand that these reports were by no means wholly satisfactory.
And now that Pansy was too ill to write herself, what a blank there was! Mamma was so different! She could not tell the things one wanted to know. Day by day, since Gaunt gave her money, Virgie had sent parcels to the nursing home, wherein her treasure was incarcerated. Fruit, jelly, pictures, flowers, books—anything love could suggest. Yet she hardly knew whether they were received, or, if so, whether they gave pleasure.
This dearth of what she called "real news" gave her a good deal of anxiety, though Grover usually contrived to reassure her, and to hold up a glorious picture of what the dear little lady would say when she was allowed to write herself!
On Sunday morning Virginia was up and dressed by church time; and walked downstairs, and along the hall, into the waiting carriage and pair. Gaunt was nowhere to be seen, and she drove to Manton, the village in whose scattered parish Omberleigh stood, escorted only by Grover.
At the church door, her husband was awaiting her, having apparently traversed the two miles on foot. He timed his appearance to coincide with hers, so that it would look as if they had arrived together. It was almost a fortnight since she had set eyes upon him, and the sight of him brought a rush of scarlet to her cheeks, and a trembling to her limbs. He tried to look as if everything was normal, as if he had driven over with her, after breakfasting together as usual. He seemed paler than her memory of him, but displayed no emotion of any kind.
Virginia was looking unusually pretty. Grover, when she had finally adjusted the picturesque hat, had remarked that it was not often they had anything like that to look at in Manton church of a Sunday morning.