"Ah," he said, "I've no doubt it would; but what am I to do with _them_? They could never go home. Imagine my wife in county society--as Mrs. Chandos of Charne." "I am now going to ask you what I have never dared to do before. Would you mind telling me why you married Mrs. Chandos?" "I married her," he answered, "chiefly to pay my cousin's debts. He was deeply involved in her father's books. I had backed his bills; he deserted me and went home; I remained to face dishonour. Miss Lopez, the money-lender's daughter, was good enough to like me. Her father offered to release me, if I would make her my wife, and I did"--here an involuntary sigh escaped him--"for between that and ruin I had no alternative. Pussy is a good girl; you will be kind to her, I know; somehow I don't think you and Dominga ever had much in common. Your aunt has written out for you, I saw her last letter and telegram--what date does she name?" "The fifteenth of October, but I can put it off; I will wait until you feel ready to come home. Even if you do return here--surely you should see Charne? Yes, and show it to _me_, and wind up all your affairs." "I will think it over, Verona; somehow when you talk to me, I feel inspired with hope and courage. I have not been home for twenty-nine years--to return has always been my dream! Well, my dear, I will sleep on your advice!" The next morning a servant coming in early to sweep and dust the room, discovered his master still sitting in his arm-chair--asleep, with a beautiful smile upon his face--the smile of one who was happy. Mindoo had never yet seen the Sahib's expression so serene. But why was he so still--so quiet? The question was readily answered--Mr. Chandos had gone home. CHAPTER XLII