Blind Love

Lord Harry saw a sudden change in his wife's face that roused his

guilty suspicions. "Is it anything about me?" he asked.

Iris handed the telegram to him in silence. Having looked at it, he

desired to hear what her wishes were.

"The telegram expresses my wishes," she said. "Have you any objection

to my leaving you?"

"None whatever," he answered eagerly. "Go, by all means."

If it had still been possible for her to hesitate, that reply would

have put an end to all further doubt. She turned away to leave the

room. He followed her to the door.

"I hope you don't think there is any want of sympathy on my part," he

said. "You are quite right to go to your father. That was all I meant."

He was agitated, honestly agitated, while he spoke. Iris saw it, and

felt it gratefully. She was on the point of making a last appeal to his

confidence, when he opened the door for her. "Don't let me detain you,"

he said. His voice faltered; he suddenly turned aside before she could

look at him.

Fanny was waiting in the hall, eager to see the telegram. She read it

twice and reflected for a moment. "How often do things fit themselves

to one's wishes in this convenient way?" she asked herself. "It's

lucky," she privately decided--"almost too lucky. Let me pack up your

things," she continued, addressing her mistress, "while I have some

time to myself. Mr. Oxbye is asleep."

As the day wore on, the noble influences in the nature of Iris, failing

fast, yet still at rare intervals struggling to assert themselves,

inspired her with the resolution to make a last attempt to give her

husband an opportunity of trusting her. He was not in his room, not in

any other part of the house, not in the garden. The hours passed--she

was left to eat her dinner in solitude. For the second time, he was

avoiding her. For the second time, he distrusted the influence of his

wife. With a heavy heart she prepared for her departure by the

night-mail.

The duties of the new nurse kept her in the cottage. Filled with alarm

for the faithful creature whom she was leaving--to what fate, who could

say?--Iris kissed her at parting.

Fanny's faint blue eyes filled with tears. She dashed them away, and

held her mistress for an instant in her arms. "I know whom you are

thinking of," she whispered. "He is not here to bid you good-bye. Let

me see what I can find in his room." Iris had already looked round the

room, in the vain hope of finding a letter. Fanny rushed up the stairs,

determined on a last search--and ran down again with a folded morsel of

flimsy foreign notepaper in her hand. "My ugly eyes are quicker than

yours," she said. "The air must have come in at the window and blown it

off the table." Iris eagerly read the letter: "I dare not deny that you will be better away from us, but only for a

while. Forgive me, dearest; I cannot find the courage to say good-bye."

Those few words spoke for him--and no more.