“No, no!” she cried in alarm. “Don’t act rashly, for your own sake, and for mine. Wait, and I will ere long give you an explanation which I know will astound you. To-day I cannot move in the matter because I am not allowed out. When I can go out I will find a means of giving you some explanation.” Then, lifting her dark, trustful eyes to mine she asked again, “Clifton, cannot you trust me? Will you not obey me in this?”
“Certainly,” I answered at last, with considerable reluctance I admit. “If you promise me to explain, then I will wait.”
“I promise,” she answered, and her thin, white hand again clasped mine, and our lips met to seal our compact.
Chapter Twenty Two.
To Seek the Truth.
The days of my love’s convalescence were happy indeed. Most of the time we spent together, planning the future and gossiping about the past. Those were halcyon hours when we reckoned time only by the meals served to us by Simes, and we both looked forward to a visit to the old Lincolnshire town that was so very lethargic, so redolent of the “good old days” of our grandfathers.
Once she received a letter left by a man, and marked “private.” In this I scented mystery; for she never referred to it, and when I inquired who was the sender she merely replied that a friend had written to her. This was strange, for none knew that she remained with me. We had thought it best not to tell any one until all could be explained, for a lady who lives in a bachelor’s chambers is looked upon with some suspicion if no very valid excuse can be given for such a flagrant breach of the convenances.
The letter without doubt caused her much thought and considerable anxiety. By her face I detected that she was dreading some dire result, the nature of which she dared not tell me; and it was on that very afternoon that Jack Yelverton called to inquire after me, for I had neither written nor seen him since that night when the chalice at St. Peter’s had disappeared into ashes.