“I may do it. I think I shall. Few people know more about the cultivation of land than I do, and I will take care to put my shoulder to the wheel. Practical farmers get on well there if they choose, though they have to rough it at first. Be very sure of one thing, Edna: all my hopes and aims will be directed to one end—that of making a home for you.”
She could not speak for crying.
“It may not be a luxurious home, neither may I make anything of a position. But if I make enough for comfort, you will come out to it?”
“I will,” she said with a sob.
“My darling!”
Echo bore the words to us, softly though they were spoken. I played a crashing chord or two, after the manner of Richards.
“You may not hear from me,” continued Fred. “I must not give any clue to where I am, and therefore cannot write—at least, not at present. Men accused of murder can be brought home from any part of the world. Only trust me, Edna. Trust me! though it be for years.”
No fear but she would. She put a small packet in his hand.
“You must take it, Frederick. It is my last half-year’s salary—ten pounds—and I chance to have it by me: a loan, if you will; but take it you shall. Knowing that you have a few pounds to help you away and to fall back upon, will make things a little less miserable for me.”
“But, Edna——”