“Oh, Edward, if you should not return,” she whispered, softly.
“Would you care, then, so much?”
“Does the flower care when the sun goes down? Does it not droop at the close of day, and does it not smile when the light comes again? Do you know how I feel?”
“I hope so, dear heart.”
“Then ask not if I care. If you should not come back to me----”
The rest of the sentence was unfinished, for I had her in my arms, and her lips could not speak for the kisses I pressed on them.
Long did we talk of what might be held locked in the future, and yet the time I was there seemed woefully short. But I knew that I must go now, for we had prepared for an early start--Lucille promised to be near when the boat should sail, and with that I must be content.
“And now God keep you, dear,” she said bravely, though there were traces of tears in her eyes.
“And God keep you,” I said.
Neither of us knew how soon we would be in need of His care. I pressed a last good night kiss on her lips, and then, with the look of her dear eyes in mine, I went away.