He had almost expected the
news. It had been quite plain to him that Daisy was not making any
progress towards the recovery of her strength. Her quick temperament
would not allow her to be listless, but he had not been deceived. And
he was glad that Will had come up at length to see for himself.
It was horribly unlucky for them both, he reflected, for he knew
that Will could not accompany his wife to England. And the thought
presently flashed across him,--How would it go with him if he ever had
to part with Muriel in that way? Having once possessed her, could
he ever bear to let her go again? Would he not rather relinquish his
profession for her sake, dear though it was to him? He had made her
his own by sheer dogged effort. He had planned for her, fought for
her, suffered for her,--almost he had died for her. Now that she was
his at last, he knew that he could never let her go.
He turned impetuously to a calendar on his writing-table, and ticked
off another day. There were only six left before his wedding-day. He
counted them with almost savage exultation. Finally he tossed down the
pencil with a sudden, quivering laugh, and stood up with wide-flung
arms. She was his--his--his! No power or force of circumstance could
ever come between them now. He would trample every obstacle underfoot.
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