Frank stood as in a dream, while the room reeled round and vanished; and he was alone for a moment upon earth with her and his great love.

“Tell me,” said he, at last, trying to awaken himself to action.  “Tell me!  Is she really going to seek him?”

“Yes, selfish and forgetful that I am!  You must help me! she will go to London, nothing can stop her;—­and it will kill her!”

“It may drive her mad to keep her here.”

“It will! and that drives me mad also.  What can I choose!”

“Follow where God leads.  It is she, after all, who must reclaim him.  Leave her in God’s hands, and go with her to London.”

“But my brother?”

“Mellot or I will see him.  Let it be me.  Mellot shall go with you to London.”

“Oh that you were going!”

“Oh that I were!  I will follow, though.  Do you think that I can be long away from you?...  But I must tell your brother.  I had a very different matter on which to speak to him this morning,” said he, with a sad smile:  “but better as it is.  He shall find me, I hope, reasonable and trustworthy in this matter; perhaps enough so to have my Valencia committed to me.  Precious jewel!  I must learn to be a man now, at least; now that I have you to care for.”

“And yet you go and leave me?”

“Valencia!  Because God has given us to each other, shall our thank-offering be to shrink cowardly from His work?”

He spoke more sternly than he intended, to awe into obedience rather himself than her; for he felt, poor fellow, his courage failing fast, while he held that treasure in his arms.

She shuddered in silence.

“Forgive me!” he cried; “I was too harsh, Valencia!”

“No!” she cried, looking up at him with a glorious smile.  “Scold me!  Be harsh to me!  It is so delicious now to be reproved by you!” and as she spoke she felt as if she would rather endure torture from that man’s hand than bliss from any other.  How many strange words of Lucia’s that new feeling explained to her; words at which she had once grown angry, as doting weaknesses, unjust and degrading to self-respect.  Poor Lucia!  She might be able to comfort her now, for she had learnt to sympathise with her by experience the very opposite to hers.  Yet there must have been a time when Lucia clung to Elsley as she to Frank.  How horrible to have her eyes opened thus!—­To be torn and flung away from the bosom where she longed to rest!  It could never happen to her.  Of course her Frank was true, though all the world were false:  but poor Lucia!  She must go to her.  This was mere selfishness at such a moment.

“You will find Scoutbush, then!”

“This moment.  I will order the car now, if you will only eat.  You must!”

And he rang the bell, and then made her sit down and eat, almost feeding her with his own hand.  That, too, was a new experience; and one so strangely pleasant, that when Bowie entered, and stared solemnly at the pair, she only looked up smiling, though blushing a little.