“And grief shall endure not forever, I know;
As things that are not shall these things be;
We shall live through seasons of sun and of snow,
And none be grievous as this to me.
We shall hear, as one in a trance that hears
The sound of time, the rhyme of the years;
Wrecked hope and passionate pain will grow
As tender things of a springtide sea.”
Stuart left his room early, and, despite the cold, gloomy morning, made his way into the grounds to think and nerve himself for the coming ordeal. He looked pale and wan; his eyes had never closed all night, his restless thoughts had never left him. His task was ended, he told himself—his cousin was found. He must just state the truth, and then go away from her fair, false sweetness back to the long, straight path of duty, back to the woman who had loved him so long and so well, back to his pledged word and the burden of life.