"David! David!"
She understood, now.
This pain at her breast, this ache of her heart, would never be stilled, until David's dear head rested here where his hand had been pressed. And David had gone from her—forever.
"Good-bye, my wife.... It meant no more than we intended it should mean.... Good-bye, my wife."
She held her hands clasped to her bosom. She looked, wide-eyed, at the empty chair, opposite.
"David," she whispered, "David, come back to me!"
It seemed, to her, that David must hear, and must return. This agony of awful loneliness could not endure.... David!... David!... David!...
At last she rose, leaned her arms upon the marble mantel-piece, and looked up into the searching eyes of the portrait.
"Uncle Falcon," she whispered bravely; "Uncle Falcon—you have won."