"Will you write your letter to-day?"
"I don't know. Very likely I shall if I can find time."
"And will you say 'Yes?' Pardon me being so inquisitive."
"Oh, I expect I shall," she said, with a smile. "It seems the proper thing to do. Gervase and I appear to have been meant for each other."
"I hope you will be happy," he said, holding out his hand to her. "Good-bye."
Half-an-hour later Mrs. Tuke found him staring fixedly out of the window as though he had been turned to stone. The trees were still swaying in the wind, but he did not see them. Through breaks in the clouds bright gleams of sunshine shot into the room every now and then, but he did not heed. From over the cliffs came the faint roar of the sea, but he did not hear. The world had become suddenly dark and silent. The fairy garden had vanished, leaving a bleak cold desert in its place; his heart seemed to have stopped beating. For the moment all interest had gone out of life. He almost wished that he could close his eyes in sleep and never awake again.
"Are you getting impatient to get out of doors?" Mrs. Tuke questioned.
"It will be a relief to get out again," he answered, absently.
"Well, I'm bound to say you've been wonderfully patient, all things considered. But then, as I often say, what can't be cured must be endured."
"Yes; that's sound philosophy."