“I hope not,” said Ralph. And then he walked home quickly, trying to arrange his plans in his mind.
“I should much like to be sure, quite sure, of what Berwick told me,” he thought; “and yet I see no way of satisfying myself without risk of committing her to more than at present I have a right to ask. But I couldn’t endure to go about in an underhand way; prying into her innocent thoughts and feelings. And on the other hand, I can’t endure to think that she may now be suffering, through my apparent coldness. Suffering, my poor little girl—and for me!”
At that moment he felt inclined to brave all, and rush off to Mrs. Archer’s on the spot.
Thinking threw no light on the difficulty. All he could decide upon was to make immediate preparations for another visit to England; and for the rest to be guided by circumstances, and by his honest determination to think first and most of her happiness.
Notwithstanding, however, all his misgivings and anxieties, the Ralph Severn who ran lightly up the long stone staircase of No. 5, was a very different being from the grave, careworn man who had slowly descended those same steps a few hours previously.
[CHAPTER] II.
MORE THAN HALF WAY
“Ah me! for aught that ever I could read,
Could ever hear by tale or history,
The course of true love never did run smooth.”
MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM.
“La doute s’introduit dans l’âme qui rêve, la foi descend dans l’âme qui souffre.”