Strange—even where all was strange. Why should their emotion move this carefully trained automaton?
Lady Tintagel took up a wrap as they passed through the hall, went straight through the Oak Room, and out at the door leading on to the veranda.
SCENE VI
“SUNSET AND EVENING STAR”
The moon had mounted into the heavens, and now cast a path of silver light across the sea.
They stood together looking down upon it.
“I came that way,” he said. “The waters called me from the cliff top at sunset. I walked along the shore for half a mile or so, then found some handy rocks, stripped in their shelter, and swam out, far and fast, until the sun rose again, for me, behind the pine woods. As I swam back to shore I saw this house, for the first time. Later I found the zigzag path, climbed it, and stood upon the lawn. Twilight had fallen suddenly; a chill was in the air. I saw the fitful glow of firelight through the windows. The darkness came so quickly, I did not fear detection. I crossed the lawn and stood on the veranda. I watched the three at play by the log fire. The room grew darker. I turned to go. Then you came in, and flashed all into light. I stayed—you bid me stay. And here I am. But I came to you, in the sunset, from the sea.”
“I thought as much,” she said. “‘Sunset and evening star, and one clear call for me.’ Do you know Tennyson’s great crowning poem? Will you repeat it as we stand here? It was so strongly in my mind as I watched the sunset. I think that was why I was so sure you would come to-night.”
“Yes, I know the lines,” he answered. “They have always held for me an extraordinary appeal. But how came you to be expecting me—to-night, or any night?”
“Repeat them. We have all the night for questions; but this moment will not come again.”
She slipped her hand within his arm. He laid his own upon it and did as she asked. And, as he repeated Tennyson’s noble lines, the tumult within his spirit ceased.