“Yes,” he cried generously. “God knows, you have been patient, Mrs. Landray; but I only ask you to wait until we shall have had time to hear; until the river and western travel opens. Then if you do not hear from him, I will start at once. We will end this suspense. The more I think of it, the more it seems the reasonable thing to do.”
And now that he was determined to make this journey for her, he glowed with a generous enthusiasm. If Stephen Landray still lived he would bring to her the tidings, and would find it in his heart to rejoice with her.
“But I wonder if it is right of me to allow you to do this,” and her face was troubled. “Perhaps my first idea, to go myself, was best.”
“No, Mrs. Landray, you will wait here until I bring you word of him. Your idea was beautiful and devoted, but the very fact that you are a woman would stand in your way. So if any one goes, I must go. You can trust to my devotion, my friendship, where you could not trust another whose interest you had merely purchased. I shall go single hearted to find him; that will be my sole purpose.”
He felt exalted by the sacrifice to which he was committed. He wished it might be greater; then it would be the more worthy of her.
“I can only think of him as ill, with some terrible illness, or—or—” and speech failed her.
“I know,” he said softly.
“I wish you could know all you have been to me; the comfort you have given. I don't mean now, I mean since that night when you brought me the letter.” She rose as she spoke and gathered her wraps about her.
“It is nothing—nothing,” he assured her, as he walked with her to her carriage.
“I will be patient,” she said as she bade him good-bye. “And though you will not hear of it, I am aware of the sacrifice you will be making for his sake.”