“An excellent suggestion,” said Lionel, with a laugh. “I must have some talk with Hoskyns about it. Meanwhile, suppose you get your trunks packed, and prepare for an early start on our wedding tour. Oh! to get outside these four walls again—to have ‘the sky above my head, and the grass beneath my feet’—what happiness—what ecstasy—that will be! A week from this time, Edith, we shall be at Chamounix. Think of that, sweet one! In place of this grim cell—the Alps and Freedom! Ah me! what a world of meaning there is in those few words!”
The clock struck four. It was time to go. Only by a supreme effort could Edith keep back her tears—but she did keep them back.
“Goodbye—my husband!” she whispered, as she kissed him on the lips—the eyes—the forehead. “May He who knows all our sorrows, and can lighten all our burdens, grant you strength for the morrow!”
Lionel’s lips formed the words, “Goodbye,” but no sound came from them. One last clasp of the hand—one last yearning, heartfelt look straight into each other’s eyes, and then Edith was gone. Lionel fell back on his seat with a groan as the door shut behind her; and there, with bowed head and clasped fingers, he sat without moving till the coming of Mr. Tressil and the others warned him that he was no longer alone.
As soon as Mr. Tressil and Hoskyns were gone, Lionel lighted up his biggest meerschaum, and Tom was persuaded, for once, into trying a very mild cigarette. Neither of them spoke much—in fact, neither of them seemed to have much to say. They were Englishmen, and to-day they did not belie the taciturnity of their race. They made a few disjointed remarks about the weather, and they both agreed that there was every prospect of an excellent harvest. Lionel inquired after the Culpeppers, and was sorry to hear that the squire was confined to his room with gout. After that, there seemed to be nothing more to say, but they understood each other so well that there was no need of words to interpret between them. Simply to have Tom sitting there, was to Lionel a comfort and a consolation such as nothing else, except the presence of his wife, could have afforded him; and for Tom to have gone to his lodgings without spending that last hour with his friend, would have been a sheer impossibility.
“I shall see you to-morrow?” asked Lionel, as Tom rose to go.
“Certainly you will.”
“Good-night, old fellow.”
“Good-night, Dering. Take my advice, and don’t sit up reading or anything to-night, but get off to bed as early as you can.”
Lionel nodded and smiled, and so they parted.