“We are looking on the sea.  In half an hour I shall have forgotten the tread of English earth.  I do not know that I breathe.  All I know is a fear that I am flying, and my strength will not continue.  That is when I am not touching his hand.  There is France opposite.  I shut my eyes and see the whole country, but it is like what I feel for Edward—­all in dark moonlight.  Oh!  I trust him so!  I bleed for him.  I could make all my veins bleed out at a sad thought about him.  And from France to Switzerland and Italy.  The sea sparkles just as if it said ‘Come to the sun;’ and I am going.  Edward calls.  Shall I be punished for so much happiness?  I am too happy, I am too happy.

“God bless my beloved at home!  That is my chief prayer now.  I shall think of her when I am in the cathedrals.

“Oh, my Father in heaven! bless them all! bless Rhoda! forgive me!

“I can hear the steam of the steamer at the pier.  Here is Edward.  He says I may send his love to you.

“Address:—­

“Mrs. Edward Ayrton,
“Poste Restante,
“Lausanne,
“Switzerland.

“P.S.—­Lausanne is where—­but another time, and I will always tell you the history of the places to instruct you, poor heart in dull England.  Adieu!  Good-bye and God bless my innocent at home, my dear sister.  I love her.  I never can forget her.  The day is so lovely.  It seems on purpose for us.  Be sure you write on thin paper to Lausanne.  It is on a blue lake; you see snow mountains, and now there is a bell ringing—­kisses from me! we start.  I must sign.

“Dahlia.”

By the reading of this letter, Rhoda was caught vividly to the shore, and saw her sister borne away in the boat to the strange countries; she travelled with her, following her with gliding speed through a multiplicity of shifting scenes, opal landscapes, full of fire and dreams, and in all of them a great bell towered.  “Oh, my sweet! my own beauty!” she cried in Dahlia’s language.  Meeting Mrs. Sumfit, she called her “Mother Dumpling,” as Dahlia did of old, affectionately, and kissed her, and ran on to Master Gammon, who was tramping leisurely on to the oatfield lying on toward the millholms.

“My sister sends you her love,” she said brightly to the old man.  Master Gammon responded with no remarkable flash of his eyes, and merely opened his mouth and shut it, as when a duck divides its bill, but fails to emit the customary quack.

“And to you, little pigs; and to you, Mulberry; and you, Dapple; and you, and you, and you.”

Rhoda nodded round to all the citizens of the farmyard; and so eased her heart of its laughing bubbles.  After which, she fell to a meditative walk of demurer joy, and had a regret.  It was simply that Dahlia’s hurry in signing the letter, had robbed her of the delight of seeing “Dahlia Ayrton” written proudly out, with its wonderful signification of the change in her life.