“No matter what happens, Mrs. Blake’s future will be attended to.”

Then I asked the question that had been troubling me ever since I had been getting better.

“Why do I never see or hear anything from Mr. Winthrop? you say he has forgiven me; but he has not so much as sent me a message, or flower since I came to myself.”

“Why, Medoline, did you not know?”

“Know what?” I asked, interrupting her, “has he gone away with Mrs. Le Grande?” I had forgotten for the moment that Mrs. Le Grande was even weaker than myself.

“Oh, no, indeed; marriage has been one of her least anxieties of late.  Mr. Winthrop is in London before this:  I am looking for letters now every day.”

“Has he gone to Europe?”

“Yes; I thought of course you knew; he left the very day the doctor pronounced you out of danger.”

“Did you know he thought of going?”

“No, we were greatly surprised; I cannot think why he left so abruptly.”

“Perhaps he was afraid of Mrs. Le Grande.  He knows how fascinating she can be when she chooses.”

“I do not think she had anything to do with it.  She was perfectly harmless when he left, in the delirium of fever, with two physicians in attendance.”

I was not convinced by Mrs. Flaxman’s words, but said no more on the subject.

My strength rapidly returned once I had got in the open air.  Thomas always found it perfectly convenient now to take me for a drive, even at most unseasonable hours.  His gardening was pressing heavily upon him, and no doubt it was hard for him to trust the care of flower and vegetable beds to other hands; but of the two he preferred to trust them rather than me, to strangers.

We took long drives over hill and valley—­for the most part taking the road that skirted the seashore.  Silently I would watch the white sails disappearing beyond the eastern horizon, wishing that I could follow them to my guardian’s side.  I missed the delightful hours I used to spend in his study listening to his conversation, so different from that of any human being I ever knew.  He lived so far above the range of little minds, the trivialities of everyday life, social gossip, and the like, seemed to shrink from his presence.  One always felt the touch of noble thoughts, and the longing for high endeavor where he was.  I lived over again in these long, quiet drives, with the silent Thomas, those last few months, when, with my innocent child’s heart, I sunned myself in his presence, unconscious of the rare charm and fascination that drew me to him.