But it was.
"By the way, Hazon," he said indifferently, "I find there is still a matter I have to attend to. So you must go on without me. I expect I'll overtake you to-morrow not long after sunrise—or not much later. So-long!"
The dark, impassive face of the up-country man underwent no change. He had understood the whole change of plan, but it was no concern of his. So he merely said "Ja, so-long," and continued his way.
Laurence did not go back to the hotel. The last thing he desired was that his return should be noticed and commented upon. He sought out Rainsford, who, having stable-room, willingly consented to put up his steed, and, being a discreet fellow, was not likely to indulge in undue tongue-wagging. Then he took his way down to Booyseus.
As he stepped forth through the gloom—for by this time it was quite dark—the words of that missive seemed burned into his brain in characters of fire and of gold. What words they were, too! He had read her glance aright, then? It was only that intrepidity of self-command which he had failed to allow for. And he? Why had he been so strong that morning? Seldom indeed did a second opportunity occur. But now? When he should return up the hill he was now descending, such a memory would be his to carry forth with him into the solitude and peril and privation of his enterprise! Yet to what end? Even if he were successful in amassing wealth untold, yet they two must be as far apart as ever. Well, that need not follow, he told himself. With wealth one can do anything—anything; without it nothing, was at this time the primary article of Laurence Stanninghame's creed; and at the thought his step grew more elastic, and all unconsciously his head threw itself back in a gesture of anticipatory triumph.
The house was quiet as he approached. At the sound of his step on the stoep—almost before he had time to knock—the door was opened—was opened by Lilith herself—then closed behind him.
She said no word; she only looked up at him. The subdued light of the half-darkened hall softened as with an almost unearthly beauty the upturned face, and forth from it her eyes shone, glowed with the lustre of a radiant tenderness, too vast, too overwhelming for her lips to utter.
And he? He, too, said no word. Those lips of hers, sweet, inviting, were pressed to his; that peerless form was wrapped in his embrace, sinking therein with a soft sigh of contentment. What room was there for mere words? as again and again he kissed the lips—eyes—hair—then the lips again. This was only the beginning of a farewell visit,—a sad, whirling, heart-break of farewell,—yet as the blood surged boiling through Laurence Stanninghame's veins, and heart, pressed against heart, seemed swelled to bursting point, he thought that life, even such as it had been, was worth living if it could contain such a moment as this. Equally, too, did he realize that, in life or in death, the triumph-joy of this moment should illumine his memory, dark though it might be, for ever and ever.
"What did you think of me when you got my note, dear one?" she whispered at last. "And I have been in perfect agony ever since, for fear it should be too late. But I could not let you go as I did this morning. I felt such an irresistible craving to see you again, Laurence, my darling, to hear your voice. I felt we could not part as we did—each trying to deceive the other, each knowing, the while, that it was impossible. I wanted more than that for a memory throughout the blank time that is coming."
"Yes, we were both too strong, my Lilith. And why should we have been? What scruple ever stood anybody to the good in this hell-fraud of a state called 'Life'? Not one—not one! Yes, we were too strong, and your self-command deceived even me."