“Darling, I can hardly believe it yet;” she whispered, playing with my fingers to make sure; “see, this is my wedding-ring, I never took it off. What fine gold it is, not to tarnish with my tears. The drops that have fallen on it—oh, I wonder there is any blue left in my eyes at all! Do you think they are as blue, dear, as when you used to love them?”
“They are bluer, heart of hearts. They are larger and deeper. The tears of true love have made them still more lovely.”
“But yours are so worn, and sad, and harassed! That can’t be from loving me more than I love you; because that is simply impossible. But you never have been—tell me, tell me all the truth. Was there any truth whatever in that horrible tale? Remember I shall love you just the same. If you tore me to pieces I should love you.”
“What horrible tale? I have never heard of any horrible tale, except your going away.”
“And you don’t know the reason! Oh Kit, oh Kit, have you taken me back like this, without even knowing why I went?”
“Darling I have not the least idea why you went. I was too glad to get you back, to think of anything else.”
“Well, you are a true love! You are a husband such as no woman on the earth deserves. I don’t think even I could have taken you back so, if you had run away from me, and I knew nothing of the cause.”
“Oh yes, you would, Kitty; I am sure you would. I believe in you, just as you would in me, and talking has nothing to do with it. But how did you expect me to know all about it?”
“Why, of course, by the letter I sent you from Ascension. The moment we got your letter—the moment I could stop crying, crying, crying—I wrote you such a letter, darling. Oh, I thought it would have killed me with wonder, and with joy. It was almost as sweet as this—not quite, not quite; nothing else can ever be quite so sweet as this.”
“Then were you with your father? Were you with him all the time.”