“No. I have done with it, Benjamin; I have nothing more to say.”
“Shall I write and tell you how it ends, if Mr. Playmore does really try the experiment at Gleninch?”
I answered, as I felt, a little bitterly.
“Yes,” I said “Write and tell me if the experiment fail.”
My old friend smiled. He knew me better than I knew myself.
“All right!” he said, resignedly. “I have got the address of your banker’s correspondent in Paris. You will have to go there for money, my dear; and you may find a letter waiting for you in the office when you least expect it. Let me hear how your husband goes on. Good-by—and God bless you!”
That evening I was restored to Eustace.
He was too weak, poor fellow, even to raise his head from the pillow. I knelt down at the bedside and kissed him. His languid, weary eyes kindled with a new life as my lips touched his. “I must try to live now,” he whispered, “for your sake.”
My mother-in-law had delicately left us together. When he said those words the temptation to tell him of the new hope that had come to brighten our lives was more than I could resist.
“You must try to live now, Eustace,” I said, “for some one else besides me.”