It was an exquisite August morning, hazy and soft, with a sky of deepest blue, and a lovely purple mist clouding all the boundary lines of the distant fields. Below me lay the rectory garden, with its cool shadows and morning lights; the dew had but just dried on the leafy boughs of apple and pear trees, and from the herb beds came up the sweetness of mint and thyme, and the old-fashioned fragrance of lavender. I leaned back on my cushions and unconsciously enjoyed all these fresh, delicate scents, while my heart throbbed faster at the slightest sound.
How long would it be before Ronald came? I felt convinced that waiting must be much worse for me than the excitement of our meeting. I could hear the sound of voices in the garden, but it was only the rector holding a consultation with his gardener. And then it occurred to me to wonder, for the first time, whether my host and my husband had yet met, and whether they liked each other? Perhaps Mr. Drury might be disposed to think less harshly of my marriage if he really knew Ronald. Perhaps this illness of mine, and this enforced stay at the old rectory, might be the means of reviving a dead friendship. I thought that it would; I could not believe that the rector's kind heart could be completely hardened against me.
How blue the sky looked between the twisted boughs of the tall pear tree! Marian and I had often sat under that tree when we were children, reading a fairy tale together; and kind Miss Drury would come to look for us, and fill our hands with cakes. Just as my thoughts were wandering back into my childhood, the sound of footsteps in the corridor recalled them, and set my heart beating afresh.
It was Ronald—really Ronald—who came quietly into the room and moved towards me with a grave face. I was not prepared to see him looking so worn and wasted, and at the sight of his altered countenance my feeble strength gave way. Speechless, I could only stretch out a thin hand, and welcome him with eyes full of tears.
Our meeting was a very quiet one. He knelt down beside the sofa, and folded me gently in his arms.
The silence, that lasted for some seconds, was only broken by the sweet rustle of the leaves outside the window. There was much to be said between us; but we were not, after all, in haste to begin the explanation which had been so eagerly desired by both. In truth, I believe that if that explanation had been altogether denied us, we should have taken each other "for better, for worse" again, quite contentedly, and walked side by side to our life's end.
"How could you have left me, Louie?" he murmured at last.
"Because I thought you did not want me any more," I answered, with my face pressed close to his.
It is needless to tell what he said in reply; but I was thoroughly convinced that he did want me. There was another silence; and when he spoke again, it was in the old easy tone of authority.
"Now tell me, Louie, what on earth is the mystery about that letter? How could Greystock have made you, believe that I dropped it in his office?"