Cobb raised his eyes inquiringly to those of his friend.
What did he mean by those words? Was he, too, imposing upon the girl’s innocence? A strange light, a gleam of hope, of inspiration, shone in the eyes of Jean Colchis as he once more bade Cobb good-bye, and left the room.
Marie and Cobb were alone—alone for the last time: she, hopeful for the future; he, broken-hearted from a knowledge of what that future was to be.
“Junius, my own,” she murmured, “go, and do your duty. God be with you, as will always my prayers. But go with this knowledge: that I swear by the God my mother taught me to adore, that I will wait till you come to me, will be true to you forever; will marry none on earth but you.”
How beautiful, heavenly beautiful, was this girl, standing there under the electric light.
None can tell the passions that moved that man’s heart.
Would he give up his great undertaking, and live and marry this Hebe, this angel? Too late! too late! The die was cast; he must meet his destiny!
With an aching heart, he kissed her good-bye—kissed her good-bye, and forever.
Into the chilly morning air he went, but there was no chill like the chill at his heart. Turning once toward the old house, he cried in his anguish: