Mr. Kamamura never again saw his two tall English guests.
As a matter of fact, they sought for and found a means of leaving his garden by a back way that brought them to a road which in its turn brought them to the station.
And the native gentlefolk in the train, which brought them back to Nagasaki by six o’clock, could not imagine what great grief it was that made the tall English lady so pallid, and so like the very picture of woe.
At the Nagasaki station Leslie helped his companion into a riksha.
“Don’t come back with me to the hotel,” she murmured; “I will drive there alone. I want to be alone, quite alone for a while. All our arrangements are made, and there is nothing more to be said. God help me!—God help us both! Good-bye, Dick, for the present.”
He watched her drive off. Then he took a riksha himself, and ordered the man to take him to the House of the Clouds.
Everything was arranged. Jane was to be his for ever. But there was no triumph in the thought. The battle had been won by his own weakness, not by his strength. Jane’s compassion for him had betrayed her.
They were to sail to-morrow by the Empress of Japan. He was to stay the night at the hotel, for he could not possibly remain the night at the House of the Clouds having once bidden good-bye to Campanula.
Beyond Vancouver lay the scheme traced out by him, accepted by Jane. They were to buy a farm in the Canadian North-west, and live there for ever happily. He would not touch a penny of her money; he had jewelry worth at least four hundred pounds, which would be amply sufficient to start on. His share in M’Gourley’s business was to be left for Campanula.
It is true he knew little about farming, but—love can do anything.