“But you will come back?” said May, in a broken voice.
John did not speak. He did not mean to come back, but he could not bear to see her distress. He kissed her again; he called her by every endearing name, and May put her hand in his and held it fast.
“Promise me to come back,” she whispered, with her cheek against his.
“I promise,” said John, after a moment’s pause, for he felt he could not resist her appeal.
“And do not quite forget me when you are away.”
“Forget you!” cried John, and he caught her passionately to his breast; “would that I could, May! It would be better for you and me—but the die is cast!”
She was still in his arms, with her head on his breast, when the sound of carriage wheels on the gravel outside was distinctly heard in the room. May lifted her head and gave a cry; John looked sharply around.
“If it is your father, whatever shall we do?”
May, girl-like, ran to the mirror; John, man-like, stood helpless.