She was in his arms. He looked down upon her face, but he did not kiss it. He clenched his teeth as he unwound her arms from him.
“One word may undo the curse that I have bound about your life,” he said. “Take the word, Daireen—the blessed word for you and me—Forget. Take it—it is my last blessing.”
She was standing before him. She saw his face there, and she gave a cry, covering her own face with her hands, for the face she saw was that which had looked up to her from the black waters.
Was he gone?
From the river bank came the sounds of the native women, from the garden the hum of insects, and from the road the echo of a horse's hoofs passing gradually away.
Was it a dream—not only this scene of broad motionless leaves, and these sounds she heard, but all the past months of her life?
Hours went by leaving her motionless in that seat, and then came the sound of a horse—she sprang up. He was returning—it was a dream that had given her this agony of parting.
“Daireen, child, what is the matter?” asked her father, whose horse it was she had heard.
She looked up to his face.
“Papa,” she said very gently, “it is over—all—all over—for ever—I have only you now.”