"No, no! I only mean--if I can be of any service. In that case, will you write to me?"
She looked at him anxiously. He had completely failed to hide from her the uneasy state of his mind: a man less capable of concealment of feeling never lived. "You are anxious, and out of spirits," she said gently. "Is it my fault?"
"Your fault? oh, don't think that! I have my dull days and my bright days--and just now my barometer is down at dull." His voice faltered, in spite of his efforts to control it; he gave up the struggle, and took his hat to go. "Do you remember, Emily, what I once said to you in the garden at the school? I still believe there is a time of fulfillment to come in our lives." He suddenly checked himself, as if there had been something more in his mind to which he hesitated to give expression--and held out his hand to bid her good-by.
"My memory of what you said in the garden is better than yours," she reminded him. "You said 'Happen what may in the interval, I trust the future.' Do you feel the same trust still?"
He sighed--drew her to him gently--and kissed her on the forehead. Was that his own reply? She was not calm enough to ask him the question: it remained in her thoughts for some time after he had gone.
On the same day Emily was at Brighton.
Francine happened to be alone in the drawing-room. Her first proceeding, when Emily was shown in, was to stop the servant.
"Have you taken my letter to the post?"