“No more partings here, dear Judy. Here are meetings!” said Ran with a smile. An hour later the _Boadicea_ sailed. At that same moment Mrs. Duncan, taking leave of Mrs. Walling, repeated her words: “Ah! won’t there be a circus when Mr. and Mrs. Randolph Hay confront Gentleman Geff and Miss Leegh at Haymore! How I would like to be there!” CHAPTER XII DARKEST BEFORE DAY Stuart took his wife home from the wedding breakfast. It was four o’clock, and the wintry sun was low on the western horizon. Mrs. Pole had a good fire burning in the little grate when they entered the parlor. “See, Poley! I have brought you a piece of the wedding cake to dream on, you know!” said Palma, offering a pretty little box done up in silver paper. “Ah, my dear! My dreaming days are long past! long past!” sighed the old woman, as, nevertheless, she took the box. “What a prosaic old fogy you are, Poley, to be sure. For that matter all our dreaming days are over after we are married, I reckon.” “Yes, honey, until we begin to dream for our children.” Palma blushed and sank into sudden silence. She was beginning to dream sweet dreams of motherhood, but that was her own precious secret, she imagined, not suspecting that Mrs. Pole knew as much about it as she did herself, and perhaps more. To cover her confusion she laughed and said: “Well, Poley, if you do not care to dream on the cake yourself you can give it to some young friends of yours, to one of your many cousins or nieces; they will be glad to have it.” Then she threw off her turban and her wraps, drew off her gloves and sank into an easy-chair before the fire. “After all, it is good to be quiet at home, is it not, Cleve? I love this little snuggery of ours. We can live very happily here until next May, and then flit to the woods and mountains again. I think I like our simple way of life. Cleve, quite as well, if not better, than if you spent all the revenues of your Mississippi plantation in living in the grand style of some of our friends. What do you think, Cleve?” she inquired, stretching out her pretty feet to the grateful warmth of the fire. He did not answer in words—he could not; he laid his hand tenderly on her curly, black hair and turned slowly away and went out of the room. Palma received the caress as a full assent to all that she had said, and smiled to herself as she gazed into the fire. Cleve Stuart went downstairs and out upon the sidewalk, and paced up and down before the house. This was his nightly promenade ground, where he came to smoke his cigar. But this evening he had no cigar, nor even the wherewithal to get one.