Page:Comin' Thro' the Rye (1898).djvu/366

358 "Never!"

"I wish I could take you with me to Rome next month."

"To Rome! next month!" I repeat, sitting up and pushing the hair back from my eyes.

"You are going away, Paul?"

"Yes, little one, for a few days. I have to settle poor Lennox's affairs; and it is a thing that cannot be got out of. I have been putting it off as long as possible, but I shall be back by Christmas."

"I have only just found you," I say, my lips quivering: "and are you going to leave me so soon?"

"My flower," he says, taking me in his arms, "it is worse to me than to you, this separation, don't make it any the harder, for I must go."

But I only clasp my arms close about his neck and shiver; somehow this going away seems to lay a cold finger upon my heart, and change all my safe, glad trust in Paul's love to a trembling, miserable fever of unrest.

"Paul!" I say in a low voice; "when two people love each other beyond everything, don't you think something or other generally happens to them?"

"They get married."

"No! one or other of them dies, or they get separated, or—or—something."

"Who could possibly separate us?" he asks, almost sternly; are you not sure of yourself, Nell?"

"I was thinking of you, Paul; you will see so many people."

"Are you judging me out of your own heart?" he asks, still gravely; "would any amount of seeing people, make you forget me for a moment?"

"I do not answer; I am struggling against the unreasonable feeling of dread that the mention of this short absence has