"You are good, but I shall leave you as soon as I may, for I am going back to the place I came from, Homewood, going back soon."
"Going back? I remember that you told me once you hoped——"
Scarsdale smiled faintly. "I hoped—but that is over, I had hope, but not now. There is nothing to hold me to England. I am a stranger in a strange land, I shall be better out there among the people who know me."
"Are you sure—sure that there is no hope for you, Scarsdale?"
Again Scarsdale smiled. "There never was," he said. "Yet I did not realise it, would not understand it—but there was never any hope for me, so—so I shall go, thanking my good friends for their care of me, thanking them and blessing them——" As he spoke he looked up at Kathleen and Allan watching saw the yearning, the hunger, the love that the lips could not utter, and then suddenly he understood that this was the man!
Yet, even understanding, he stooped and touched the other's hand.
"Remember, if you will stay, my wife and I will be glad—we would have you stay as long as you can—Scarsdale."
They turned away, went out of the room together, and then when the door had closed on them, he turned to her.
"Kathleen, I remember that night you told me that you had met the man again—it was he."
"He came back," she said, "he came back and I knew it meant nothing to me. It was a dream, as yours was dear, and it passed, as yours did, my Allan and so—so——" she held up her arms and put them about his neck and lifted her face to his.