"You will come and see me again, Father?"
"I will come and see thee again," he echoed—well knowing, as he spoke, that the interview was not likely to be held on the earthly side of the cold river. But surely he would meet her again; and it would be he that should come to her. There would be room in the halls above, and no need to employ a third person, nor to use secrecy and stratagem in order to meet. Up from the core of his soul went the passionate cry, "Let us go together! Make no tarrying, O my God!" He knew now at least, if he had never known it before, that there was to be no paradise for him outside the Paradise of God.
"My Lady!" said the rather nervous voice of Agnes at the door. "I cry you verily mercy, but—Her Grace is calling for you."
None of them dared to disregard that summons.
One more last embrace! One more last look! From the Duke's eyes
"No tears fell, but a gaze fixed, long,
That memory might print the face
On the heart's ever-vacant space
With a sun-finger, sharp and strong."
His very soul seemed to dissolve itself upon her head as he gave her the last blessing. She tore herself away, and stumbling with tear-blinded eyes over her velvet train, went up to receive a sharp scolding for loitering from the Duchess, and some very cold ceremonial speeches from her affianced.
All was over. There was nothing left for that desolate man. Nothing to which he could look forward! There had been just that one hope, and it was gone. Nothing was left now to hope or fear.
He had come on foot and unattended, in order to avoid recognition. Mechanically he turned to the river stairs, called a boat, and was rowed up to Westminster. As he wearily mounted the Palace stairs, the Earl of Pembroke met him.
"Ah, my very good Lord of Exeter! Whither away?"