He rose abruptly. “I must go!” he said.
He crossed to the garden door and flung it wide.
A stream of golden sunshine poured in, paling the artificial light, and flooding the room with radiance.
The sun had risen, a great golden ball, above the sea, and was slowly ascending from the pearly mist on the horizon.
“I must go,” he said, again; but a dreamy quality had come into his voice, and he leaned against the door post, gazing at the sunrise.
She came and stood beside him, and together they looked up to the rosy sky, flecked with soft billowy clouds of pearly whiteness, and down on the wide expanse of opal sea, reflecting in a royal highway from shore to horizon, the crimson glory of the rising sun.
The water seemed to shout, once more, in a silent chorus of sparkling voices: “This is the way to the City of Gold! Leap from the cliff! Take to the waters! This—and this only—is your road for Home.”
Suddenly a look of hope shone in his eyes. His whole figure sprang to alertness. He was transformed.
“I must go!” he cried. “There lies the way.” He pointed to the sparkling path upon the waters. “It is my only chance; my one way Home.”
“Not that, Nigel! Oh, not that!” Her clinging hands caught at his coat. “You always said those who did that would lose—”