“I think not. My daughter, say at once, is this our parting—our last parting and our first?”
Inarime lifted her head and removed her arms from her lover’s neck. She gazed questioningly at both men, begged for pity from the one, and for strength from the other.
The old man was sad and stern, as immovable as his own great Castro. Gustav’s beautiful Eastern face was aflame and radiant in youth and strength and passion.
Could she forsake the old and worn?
“Not that, father, not that,” she cried.
“Then leave that man and go inside.”
“I will obey you, father,” she said. “Farewell,” she cried, turning to Gustav, and with one long look she passed from the terrace.