"Ah, you are laughing at me. But this is no light matter, Raby; it means that I am to burden you with all my foolish doubts and fancies--that I am never to keep my wrong feelings to myself." "Promise!" was his only answer, in a very persuasive voice. "Yes, I will promise," hiding her face on his shoulder; "but it will be your own fault if I am ever a trouble to you. Oh, Raby, may I always tell you everything; will you help me to be good, and to fight against myself?" "We will help each other," he answered, stroking her soft hair; "there shall never be a shadow on the one that the other will not share--half the shadow and half the sunshine; and always the Divine goodness over us. That shall be our married life, Crystal." CHAPTER XXXVI. SIR HUGH'S REPENTANCE. And by comparison I see The majesty of matron grace, And learn how pure, how fair can be My own wife's face: Pure with all faithful passion, fair With tender smiles that come and go, And comforting as April air After the snow. JEAN INGELOW. Sir Hugh began to wish that he had never gone to Egypt, or that he had gone with any one but Fitzclarence--he was growing weary of his vagaries and unpunctuality. They had deviated already four times from the proposed route, and the consequence was, he had missed all his letters; and the absence of home news was making him seriously uneasy. He was the only married man; the rest of the party consisted of gay, young bachelors--good enough fellows in their way, but utterly careless. They laughed at Sir Hugh's anxious scruples, and secretly voted that a married man was rather a bore in this kind of thing. What was the use of bothering about letters, they said, so long as the remittances came to hand safely. Sir Hugh thought of Fay's loving little letters lying neglected at the different postal towns, and sighed; either he was not so indifferent to her as he supposed himself to be, or absence was making his heart tender; but he had never been so full of care and thought for his Wee Wifie as he was then. He wished he had bidden her good-bye. He remembered the last time he had seen her, when he had gone into his study with the telegram in his hand; and then he recalled the strange wistful look she had given him. He could not tell why the fancy should haunt him, but he wished so much that he had seen her again and taken a kinder leave of her. It had not been his fault, he told himself a hundred times over; but still one never knew what might happen. He wished now that he had taken her in his arms and had said God bless her; she was such a child, and he was leaving her for a long time. Sir Hugh was becoming a wiser man, and was beginning to acknowledge his faults, and, what was better still, to try and make amends for them.