"Then I'll go, too," said Banks.
"What! and leave Milly? No, you won't come. Banks, you'll stay here."
"But I'll see you sometimes, shan't I?"
"Perhaps?—that's likely, isn't it?"
"Yes, that's likely," repeated Banks, and fell silent from sheer weight of sorrow. "At least you'll let me go with you to the station?" he said at last, after a long pause in which he had been visited by one of those acute flashes of sympathy which are to the heart what intuition is to the intellect.
"Why, of course," responded Ordway, more touched by the simple request than he had been even by the greater loyalty. "You may do that, Banks, and I'll thank you for it. And now go back to Tappahannock," he added, "I must take the midday train and there are a few preparations I've still to make."
"But where will you go?" demanded Banks, swinging round again after he had turned from him.
"Where?" repeated Ordway blankly, and he added indifferently, "I hadn't thought."
"The midday train goes west," said Banks.
"Then, I'll go west. It doesn't matter."