"I have loved you for so long," he said gently. "But always you have turned your face from me ... though I knew you were mine. I saw it in your eyes ... but always you denied me even the touch of your hand ... and I never knew that your hair smelled so sweet until to-night.... Loraine, dearest of all women, kiss me again...."
A terrible chill crept through the veins of Poppy Destin. Now she lay like one dead against the wild, loud-beating heart under the grey coat. Her own had ceased to beat; what words were these?
He held her closer. The seeing fingers touched the fabric of her gown, and the slim, boyish body beneath.
"Why, you're only a girl!" he muttered wonderingly. "You have slipped back to girlhood for love of me. God forgive me my sins! I am not worthy to touch your little bare feet, Loraine."
At that she wrenched herself from his arms, sprang to her feet, and ran from him, blindly; she knew not, cared not, where. At one time she stumbled into a Christ-thorn bush and tore her hands and gown, but she felt no pain nor the warm blood running down. She only stopped at last because she found herself in the street with a rickshaw boy demanding where she wished to go. That recalled her to her senses and she stepped back hastily out of the light of his lamps, and stood in the shadow of the gate.
"There is a M'rungo in here who is ill. Come and help him to your rickshaw," she said, suddenly inspired.
"Where does he want to go?" demanded the boy. "I go no more on the Berea to-night—only townwards."
"Yes, that will do." She collected her thoughts hastily. He would probably not be able to give the boy his address, the safest thing would be to send him to the Club, where he had dined and was probably well known. She added, therefore: "He wishes to go to the Club."
"Ker-lub!" repeated the boy and nodded sagaciously; Ker-lub M'rungos always paid well!
Well satisfied, he followed the girl through the gates and over the soft, dark lawns to the tree where the M'rungo was sitting. She spoke in a clear, cold voice: