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.