Blind Love

"I shall like to turn farmer," Lord Harry went on talking while Iris

opened and began to read Fanny's manuscript. "After all my adventures,

to settle down in a quiet place and cultivate the soil. On market-day

we will drive into town together"--he talked as if Kentucky were

Warwickshire--"side by side in a spring cart. I shall have samples of

grain in bags, and you will have a basket of butter and cream. It will

be an ideal life. We shall dine at the ordinary, and, after dinner,

over a pipe and a glass of grog, I shall discuss the weather and the

crops. And while we live in this retreat of ours, over here the very

name of Harry Norland will have been forgotten. Queer, that! We shall

go on living long after we are dead and buried and forgotten. In the

novels the man turns up after he is supposed to be cast

away--wrecked--drowned--dead long ago. But he never turns up when he is

forgotten--unless he is Rip Van Winkle. By Gad, Iris! when we are old

people we will go home and see the old places together. It will be

something to look forward to--something to live for--eh?"

"I feel quite happy this evening, Iris; happier than I have been for

months. The fact is, this infernal place has hipped us both

confoundedly. I didn't like to grumble, but I've felt the monotony more

than a bit. And so have you. It's made you brood over things. Now, for

my part, I like to look at the bright side. Here we are comfortably cut

off from the past. That's all done with. Nothing in the world can

revive the memory of disagreeable things if we are only true to

ourselves and agree to forget them. What has been done can never be

discovered. Not a soul knows except the doctor, and between him and

ourselves we are going to put a few thousand--What's the matter, Iris?

What the devil is the matter?"

For Iris, who had been steadily reading while her husband chattered on,

suddenly dropped the book, and turned upon him a white face and eyes

struck with horror.

"What is it?" Lord Harry repeated.

"Oh! Is this true?"

"What?"

"I cannot say it. Oh, my God! can this be true?"

"What? Speak, Iris." He sprang to his feet. "Is it--is it discovered?"

"Discovered? Yes, all--all--all--is discovered!"

"Where? How? Give me the thing, Iris. Quick! Who knows? What is known?"