Part 71

“I know. I saw you. Oh! wasn't that a night? Didn't I sing? It was for you, Barney. My soul, my heart, my body, went all into Ortrud that night.”

“It was a great, a truly great thing, Iola.”

“Yes,” said Iola, with a proud little laugh, “I think the dear old Spectator was right when it said it was a truly great performance, but I waited for you, and waited and waited, and when you didn't come I found that all the rest was nothing to me without you. Oh, how I wanted you, Barney, then--and ever since!”

“If I had only known!” groaned Barney.

“Now, Barney, we are not to go back. We are to take all the joy out of this hour. Promise me, Barney, you will not blame yourself--now or ever--promise me, promise me!” she cried, eagerly insistent.

“But I do, Iola.”

“Oh, Barney! promise me this, we will look forward, not back, will you, Barney?” The pleading in her voice swept away all feeling but the desire to gratify her.

“I promise you, Iola, and I keep my word.”

“Yes, you do, Barney. Oh, thank you, darling.” She wreathed her arms about his neck and laid her head upon his breast. “Oh!” she said with a deep sigh, “I shall rest now--rest--rest. That's what I've been longing for. I could not rest, Barney.”

Barney shuddered. Only too well he knew the meaning of that fateful restlessness, but he only held her closer to him, his heart filled with a fierce refusal of his lot.

“There is no one like you, Barney, after all,” she murmured, nestling down with a delicious sigh of content. “You are so strong. You will make me strong, I know. I feel stronger already, stronger than for months.”

Again Barney shuddered at that cruel deception, so characteristic of the treacherous disease.

“Why don't you speak to me, Barney? You haven't said a word except just 'Iola, Iola, Iola.' Haven't you anything else to say, sir? After your long silence you might--” She raised her head and looked into his eyes with her old saucy smile.

“There is nothing to say, Iola. What need to speak when I can hold you like this? But you must not talk too much.”

“Tell me something about yourself,” she cried. “What? Where? How? Why? No, not why. I don't want that, but all the rest.”

“It is hardly worth while, Iola,” he replied, “and it would take a long time.”

“Oh, yes, think what a delicious long time. All the time there is. All the day and every day. Oh, Barney! does one want more Heaven than this? Tell me about Margaret and--yes--and Dick,” she shyly added. “Are they well and happy?”

“Now, darling,” said Barney, stroking her hair; “just rest there and I'll tell you everything. But you must not exhaust yourself.”

“Go on then, Barney,” she replied with a sigh of ineffable bliss, nestling down again. “Oh, lovely rest!”

Then Barney told her of Margaret and Dick and of their last few days together, making light of Dick's injury and making much of the new joy that had come to them all. “And it was your letter that did it all, Iola,” he said.

“No,” she replied gently, “it was our Father's goodness. I see things so differently, Barney. Lady Ruthven has taught me. She is an angel from Heaven, and, oh, what she has done for me!”

“I, too, Iola, have great things to be thankful for.”

A tap came to the door and, in response to their invitation, Lady Ruthven, with Jack in the background, appeared.

“Dinner will be served in a few minutes, Iola, and I am sure Dr. Boyle would like to go to his room. You can spare him, I suppose?”

“No, I can't spare him, but I will if you let me go down to-night to dinner.”

“Is it wise, do you think?” said Lady Ruthven gravely. “You must save your strength now, you know.”

“Oh, but I am strong. Just for to-night,” she pleaded. “I'm not going to be an invalid to-night. I'm going to forget all about it. I am going to eat a good dinner and I'm going to sing, too. Jack, tell them I can go down. Barney, you will take me down. You may carry me, if you like. I am going, Jack,” she continued with something of her old imperious air.

Barney searched her face with a critical glance, holding his fingers upon her wrist. She was growing excited. “Well, I think she might go down for a little. What do you think, Charrington? You know best.”