Pauline was scarcely five minutes in coming down again, but Guy counted each tick of the clock with desperate heartsickness.
"Oh, my darling, my darling," he said, when she was held in the so dearly longed for, the so terribly brief embrace. "I cannot bear the torment of to-day."
She tried to soothe him; but Guy had reached the depths and this relief after such effort was almost too late.
"Pauline, listen," he said, quickly. "You must come and say good night to me in the garden. Do you hear? You must! You must! I sha'n't sleep unless you do. You must!"
"Guy," she murmured, "I couldn't."
"You must! Promise ... you must. Come down and say good night to me on the lawn. I shall wait there all night. I shall wait...."
The cuckoo burst out to cry seven o'clock.
"You must come. You must come. Promise."
"Perhaps," she whispered, faintly. Then she said she could not.
Guy went to the door.