At last Barney found his voice. "Does she suspect anything?" he asked hoarsely.
"I think she must, but she has said nothing. She has been eager all summer to get back to her home--to you--to those she loved.
She will rejoice to see you."
Suddenly Barney dropped his face into his hands with a low, long moan. Jack looked out upon the fleeting landscape dimmed by the tears he dared not wipe away. A long silence followed while, drop by drop, Barney drank his cup to the bitter dregs.
"We try to think of the bright side," at length said Lady Ruthven gently.
Barney lifted his face from his hands, looked at her in dumb misery.
"There is the bright side," she continued, "the side of the immortal hope. We like to think of the better country. That is our real home. There, only, are our treasures safe." She was giving him time to get hold of himself after the first deadly stab.
But Barney made no reply except to gravely bow. "It is, indeed, a better country," she added softly as if to herself, "the only place we immortals can call home." Then she rose. "Come, Jack," she said, "I think Dr. Boyle would like to be alone." Before she turned away to another section of the carriage, she offered him her hand with a grave, pitying smile.
Barney bowed reverently over her hand. "I am grateful to you," he said brokenly, "believe me." His face was contorted with the agony that filled his soul. A quick rush of tears rendered her speechless and in silence they turned away from him, and for the long hour that followed they left him with his grief.
When they came back they found him with face grave and steady, carrying the air of one who has fought his fight and has not been altogether beaten. And with that same steady face he reached the great door of Ruthven Hall.
"Jack, you will take Dr. Boyle to his room," said Lady Ruthven; "I shall see Iola and send for him." But just then her daughter came down the stairs. "Mamma," she said in a low, quick tone, "she wants him at once."
"Yes, dear, I know," replied her mother, "but it will be better that I--"
But there was a light cry, "Barney!" and, looking up, they all saw, standing at the head of the great staircase, a figure slight and frail, but radiant. It was Iola.
"Pardon me, Lady Ruthven," said Barney, and was off three steps at a time.
"Come, children." Swiftly Lady Ruthven motioned them into the library that opened off the hall, where they stood gazing at each other, awed and silent.
"Heaven help them!" at length gasped Jack.
"Let go my arm, Dr. Charrington," said Miss Ruthven. "You are hurting me."
"Your pardon, a thousand times. I didn't know. This is more than I can well stand."
"It will be well to leave them for a time, Dr. Charrington," said Lady Ruthven, with a quiet dignity that subdued all emotion and recalled them to self-control. "You will see that Dr. Boyle gets to his room?"
"I shall go up with you, Lady Ruthven, a little later," replied Jack. "Yes, I confess," he continued, answering Miss Ruthven's look, "I am a coward. I am afraid to see him. He takes things tremendously. He was quite mad about her years ago, fiercely mad about her, and when the break came it almost ruined him. How he will stand this, I don't know, but I am afraid to see him."
"This will be a terrible strain for her, Lady Ruthven," said Alan.
"It should not be prolonged, do you think?"
"It is well that they should be alone for a time," she replied, her own experience ****** her wise in the ways of the breaking heart.
When with that quick rush Barney reached the head of the stairs Iola moved toward him with arms upraised. "Barney! Barney! Have you come to me at last?" she cried.
A single, searching glance into her face told him the dread truth.
He took her gently into his arms and, restraining his passionate longing to crush her to him, lifted her and held her carefully, tenderly, gazing into her glowing, glorious eyes the while.
"Where?" he murmured.
"This door, Barney."
He entered the little boudoir off her bedroom and laid her upon a couch he found there. Then, without a word, he put his cheek close to hers upon the pillow, murmuring over and over, "Iola--Iola--my love--my love!"
"Why, Barney," she cried, with a little happy laugh, "don't tremble so. Let me look at you. See, you silly boy, I am quite strong and calm. Look at me, Barney," she pleaded, "I am hungry to look at your face. I've only seen it in my dreams for so long." She raised herself on her arm and lifted his face from the pillow.
"Now let me sit up. I shall never see enough of you. Never!
Never! Oh, how wicked and how foolish I was!"
"It was I who was wicked," said Barney bitterly, "wicked and selfish and cruel to you and to others."
"Hush!" She laid her hand on his lips. "Sit here beside me. Now, Barney, don't spoil this one hour. Not one word of the past. You were a little hard, you know, dear, but you were right, and I knew you were right. I was wrong. But I thought there would be more in that other life. Even at its best it was spoiled. I wanted you.
The great 'Lohengrin' night when they brought me out so many times--"
"I was there," interrupted Barney, his voice still full of bitter pain.
"I know. I saw you. Oh! wasn't that a night? Didn't I sing? It was for you, Barney. My soul, my heart, my body, went all into Ortrud that night."
"It was a great, a truly great thing, Iola."
"Yes," said Iola, with a proud little laugh, "I think the dear old Spectator was right when it said it was a truly great performance, but I waited for you, and waited and waited, and when you didn't come I found that all the rest was nothing to me without you. Oh, how I wanted you, Barney, then--and ever since!"
"If I had only known!" groaned Barney.
"Now, Barney, we are not to go back. We are to take all the joy out of this hour. Promise me, Barney, you will not blame yourself--now or ever--promise me, promise me!" she cried, eagerly insistent.
"But I do, Iola."
"Oh, Barney! promise me this, we will look forward, not back, will you, Barney?" The pleading in her voice swept away all feeling but the desire to gratify her.
"I promise you, Iola, and I keep my word."
