So am I punished. The house is
dull and lonely; the hours crawl, I know not how to kill the time; my
life is a misery and a burden because you are not with me. Yet I have
no right to complain; I ought to rejoice in thinking that you are happy
in being relieved of my presence. My dear, I do not ask you to come at
present"--he remembered, indeed, that her arrival at this juncture
might be seriously awkward--"I cannot ask you to come back yet, but let
me have a little hope--let me feel that in the sweetness of your nature
you will believe in my repentance, and let me look forward to a speedy
reunion in the future."
When he had written this letter, which he would have done better to
keep in his own hands for awhile, he directed it in a feigned hand to
Lady Harry Norland, care of Hugh Mountjoy, at the latter's London
hotel. Mountjoy would not know Iris's correspondent, and would
certainly forward the letter. He calculated--with the knowledge of her
affectionate and impulsive nature--that Iris would meet him half-way,
and would return whenever he should be able to call her back. He did
not calculate, as will be seen, on the step which she actually took.
The letter despatched, he came back to the cottage happier--he would
get his wife again.
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