“Well, yes, so it is,” said Faradeane, with a sad smile. “And you’ll find that the very first moment that is likely to occur you will cling to that same life pretty tightly. Ah, Cherub, don’t think I am unfeeling. I know—I tell you I know, how you feel!” and his hands pressed his shoulders soothingly. “Good-by, dear lad. You’ve one thing on your side—youth. You’ll still be young when you come back and tell me that you have found your heart again, and—lost it to some one else.”
Bertie bit his lip, and forced the tears back from his eyes, for there was something inexpressively touching in Faradeane’s words and tone.
“Good-by, old fellow,” he said, taking his hat, “I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you. When I look back and remember how constantly you have been my friend; how, many and many a time, you have lifted me out of a scrape, it seems hard to part from you. But I’ll go as you advise me. Africa’s the best place, I think,” ruefully. “And you’ll stop here?”
Faradeane nodded.
“For the present, yes.”
Bertie sighed.
“I envy you. You will be near to her, at any rate. Faradeane,” suddenly, “will you do one thing for me?”
“I don’t know; my last promise got me into a scrape that makes me cautious. What is it?”
“It isn’t much. It’s only to—to remember how—how dearly I loved her, and to promise, if anything should happen to her, any trouble, anything wrong, that you will stand her friend, as you have stood mine. You see, I’ve learned to rely on you so much——”
“What is likely to happen to the wife of the wealthy Mr. Bradstone?” said Faradeane, pacing to and fro again, with knit brows. “Well, well, I promise. Is that all?”