Carmina looked—reluctantly looked—at her friend, and said, with an effort, “I am glad.”
“You will be better,” Miss Minerva continued, “the moment you see him.”
Her face became faintly animated. “I shall be able to say good-bye,” she answered.
“Not good-bye, darling. He is returning to you after a long journey.”
“I am going, Frances, on a longer journey still.” She closed her eyes, too weary or too indifferent to say more.
Miss Minerva drew back, struggling against the tears that fell fast over her face. The jealous old nurse quietly moved nearer to her, and kissed her hand. “I’ve been a brute and a fool,” said Teresa; “you’re almost as fond of her as I am.”
A week later, Miss Minerva left London, to wait for Ovid at Queenstown.
CHAPTER LVII.
Mr. Mool was in attendance at Fairfield Gardens, when his old friend arrived from Scotland, to tell him what the cautiously expressed message in the telegram really meant.