Not much more was said. Only enough to chase the shadows of others from the road of life they meant to take together and make it clear before them. For the rest—they had all the years to come in which to understand and suffer and forgive.
He thought of the turmoil and transgression and "tremendous disarray" of his life—and of dark, still nights far away in Borapota, with this woman of his dreams by his side—and his heart sent up a cry that was not unworthy of it.
"O, Lord God—forgive me my sins!"
When Bramham came into the room long after, she was still kneeling there in her white gown and her loosened hair, and she thought it no shame for him to find her so. She rose to her feet and gave him her hand, and he held it closely, preciously—for he, too, loved this woman.
"Thank God that out of this jumble and carnage comes one good thing!" he said. "Your ship is home in port. Take her out to the gate, Carson. Mrs. Portal is waiting, and they're going to pick up Portal at the Club. Capron will recover, Ferrand says."
When Poppy had hastily fastened her hair, and Carson had wrapped her in her cloak, they went down to the gate where Clem waited half in and half out of a carriage window. Her face was radiant, too. She drew Poppy in beside her.
"Are you two happy?" she whispered. "So am I." But she told nothing of the golden moment that had been hers within the past hour, when, in the darkness of the Club verandah, a big, sullenly handsome man had taken her in his arms and just whispered:
"Forgive!—Loraine!"
She was that lovely thing, a close woman.