"Good-bye," she said softly.
There was a rustle of soft drapery, a hasty footfall, a blank. The window was vacant. The man stared at it, still for a moment possessed with the vision of her presence. Then he turned, and looked painfully round the luxurious room.
All was there that man could want—every expression of a cultivated taste. As he looked, his loneliness—the loneliness that would never now be satisfied—fell in desolation round him.
The adventurers were gathered on the lawn on a rug and cushions Marjorie had found for them. After a long sleep, as school was out of the question for that day, they had spent some hours in shovelling the earth back into their hole.
"Never knew such a funny fing in all my life!" Sandy had exclaimed during this process. "It all came out, and on'y 'bout half will go in. How do you splain that, Dave?"
"Don't want to explain," said David, jumping in and stamping vigorously. "It's got to go, whether it will or no."
"It's like a grave," Sandy said, observing him. "On'y there's nothing buried. You'll get buried in a minute, Orme, if you don't look out."
"Me s'ant."