He helped her on to her feet; and, hand in hand, softly and in silence, they went upstairs and stood side by side looking down on the unconscious beauty of their sleeping child.
“She forms a link,” he said. “When her blue eyes look into your eyes, you’ll remember.”
He bent down and laid his hand over the baby hands and kissed the soft cheek.
“I’ll miss her,” he said; and straightened himself and turned away from the cot abruptly.
Esmé followed him to the door.
“No; don’t come down. We’ll part here. I can let myself out.”
He took her by the shoulders and held her a little way off, looking at her long and earnestly as though he wished to impress her features on his memory for ever.
“Some time in the far off future we may meet again,” he said. “God knows. Anyhow, you will live always in my heart. Good-bye, and God bless you.”
His hands slipped to the back of her shoulders, drew her to him, held her. She lifted her face to his; and in the dimly lit room where the baby slept, and where the man was to part from both wife and child, they clung together and kissed for the last time, not as lovers, but solemnly and tenderly, as dear friends embrace, knowing they may never meet again. Then the man went swiftly down the stairs and let himself quietly out of the house.