She was startled for a moment; then replied quietly, ‘Yes, Oliver, I do think it will be the best way—’
He continued hesitating—faltering. ‘It is not for that only, my darling. This letter—I am afraid I shall have to go: a—a friend of mine has got into trouble. I—can’t exactly tell what it is; but wants me to go.’
‘Oh, how sorry I am!’ said Grace. ‘Dear Oliver, it is natural people should turn to you when they are in trouble. Who is he? Do I know him? Has he written to you about—’
‘I don’t suppose—he—knows anything about it. It is a friend I haven’t heard of for a long time. Not one for you to know, but in great trouble. Dying, the letter says.’
‘Oh, Oliver, go—go at once. Not for the world would I keep you from a dying man. Don’t tell me any more than you wish, dear. But can I do anything—can I send anything? Is he—oh, Oliver, forgive me—is he poor?’
‘Forgive you?’ he said. He held her close to him with a strain which was almost violent, as if he could not let her go. Then he said, ‘No, my darling, you can do nothing. I may have helped to make things worse, and I am at the height of happiness, while this poor creature—this poor—’
‘Oh, Oliver, go and comfort him,’ she said, ‘Don’t lose a train; don’t come back to any good-bye. Go—go!’ Then while he hold her in his arms she said, smiling, ‘It need not be a very long parting, I suppose?’
‘Any parting is long that takes me from you, Grace.’
‘But it is for love’s sake. Good-bye. I’ll do all I can do, Oliver. I’ll pray for you—and him.’
‘God bless you, my dear love—not good-bye—till we meet again.’