CHAPTER XIII I SAIL FOR VIRGINIA
It was near midnight when my door opened again. I was still in the chair by the table, where I had seated myself when I had left them outside, staring vacantly at the place opposite, where she had sat so lately. Only a few brief minutes before her dress had pressed yonder chair; her elbow had touched the table; it was still wet with her tears.
"Bobby," I said, arising as he entered, "I need not say that I am glad to see thee; it seems like ages since we roamed London together."
He seated himself opposite and looked at me. I saw no change in him since we had been together twenty-two months before, save perhaps a few wrinkles about his forehead, otherwise he was still the same frank, sincere friend.
"Thou hast changed," he said at length.
"I know it," I replied, "but thou hast heard of my adventures."
"Yes," he answered, with a ringing laugh. "The Lady Margaret told me of them. I marvel not that the Queen did not believe thee—it is almost beyond belief."
"Bobby," I said, "often have I thought of thee in the long nights and wished to see thy face. I had not thought sometimes to see it again."