In the middle of the morning came a telegram from Miss Ley, telling Bertha to come whenever she liked--hoping Edward would come too! Bertha left it in a conspicuous place so that he could not fail to see it. “So you’re really going?” he said. “I told you I was as able to keep my word as you.” “Well, I think it’ll do you no end of good. How long will you stay?” “How do I know! Perhaps for ever.” “That’s a big word--though it has only two syllables.” It cut Bertha to the heart that Edward should be so indifferent--he could not care for her at all. He seemed to think it natural that she should leave him, pretending it was good for her health. Oh, what did she care about her health! As she made the needful preparations her courage failed her, and she felt it impossible to go. Tears came as she thought of the difference between their present state and the ardent love of a year before. She would have welcomed the poorest excuse that forced her to stay, and yet saved her self-respect. If Edward would only express grief at the parting, it might not be too late. But her boxes were packed and her train fixed; he told Miss Glover that his wife was going away for a change of air, and regretted that his farm prevented him from accompanying her. The trap was brought to the door, and Edward jumped up, taking his seat. Now there was no hope, and go she must. She wished for courage to tell Edward that she could not leave him, but was afraid. They drove along in silence; Bertha waited for her husband to speak, daring to say nothing herself, lest he should hear the tears in her voice. At last she made an effort. “Are you sorry I’m going?” “I think it’s for your good--and I don’t want to stand in the way of that.” Bertha asked herself what love a man had for his wife, who could bear her out of his sight, no matter what the necessity. She stifled a sigh. They reached the station and he took her ticket. They waited in silence for the train, and Edward bought _Punch_ and _The Sketch_ from a newspaper boy. The horrible train steamed up; Edward helped her into a carriage, and the tears in her eyes now could not be concealed. She put out her lips. “Perhaps for the last time,” she whispered. Chapter XXII _72 Eliot Mansions, Chelsea, S.W._ _April 18._