‘Good-bye, Irene.’ He had the right at least to say that to the sweetheart of his boyhood, and the chosen idol of his young manhood’s heart. ‘I have seen your father, dear, and whatever there might have been, it’s all over. Good-bye, and—God bless you, always. Always. Always.’
‘I have seen him, too,’ she answered, and though the tears rained down as fast as ever, there was no break in the sweet quiet voice. ‘Good-bye. God bless you.’
This was all their farewell, save that when she turned away with that uncertain groping of the hand he took it in his own and guided it to the rail of the staircase. He watched her as she slowly mounted the stairs, with the light of the candle falling on her hair, and turning its brown masses to dark gold. All her figure was in shadow, and the dim gold head seemed to float upward until it vanished at the turning of a corner, and the feint light on the wall grew fainter. Then he heard the soft opening of a door, and before it closed again, one sob reached his ears, and stabbed the heart that had laid within him like cold iron; and he knew that all her self-control had broken down. The door closed swiftly, shutting out the last ray of light reflected from the wall, and he found his way back to his chair, and sat there doggedly fighting with himself, and praying for Heaven’s mercy on her, until his eyes tingled as if they had been pricked by a needle. Whether he would have it so or no, the tears came, and as he hid his face in his hands, they dripped between his fingers to the floor. He was but three-and-twenty, and the first passion of the pain of life was upon him.
The door at his side was opened stealthily, and his father spoke almost at his ear, in a harsh whisper.
‘Hillo! The hall’s dark. They’ve all gone to bed, I suppose. Now don’t let’s have any more chatter. Spain’s the land for you, my lad. You’ll start first thing tomorrow. You lie low, and leave me to work things for the pair of us if I can. If I see that the game’s going against us I shall follow. Good God, what’s that?’
‘I am here, father,’ said Polson, rising. ‘I have been waiting to speak to you.’ Jervase started violently at his unexpected voice, and half recoiled into the room behind him.
‘You’re here?’ he said, advancing with clenched hands. ‘What are you doing here? Eavesdropping?’
‘No, sir,’ said Polson more sternly than he had ever spoken in his life till then. ‘That isn’t my line of country, and you know it. I want to speak to you.’
‘Go to your room,’ said his father, hissing from between clenched teeth. ‘Go to your room, sir, and be damned to you.’
‘I have meant to speak to you,’ Polson answered, ‘since I had time to think this night’s work over, and after what I heard just now, I mean it more than ever.’