“Abroad! Where?” Editha demanded, breathlessly.
“To Europe.”
“Will—will you be gone long, Earle?” she asked, all the light and beautiful color fading out of her face at this intelligence.
“I do not know—no longer than I can possibly help, for I have work of great importance to do here yet,” he said, with a sigh, and a note of bitterness in his tone.
Editha knew that he referred to the solving of the mystery of the robbery. She, too, sighed heavily. It was like taking all the joy out of her existence to know of his going away.
While he was in the same city and near, so that she could see him occasionally, or hear of him even indirectly, she could be reasonably content; but, with the ocean dividing them, her heart would be heavy enough.
Earle marked her emotion, and his heart thrilled.
How sweet it was to know that she loved him and would miss him.
He arose from his chair, and going to her, sat down by her side.
“Editha,” he said, in low, eager tones, “you will be glad to learn that I think I have at last a clew to that wretched business.”