"I am grateful to you for the assistance you rendered my wife," Wolff said. "We shall scarcely meet again."
"Not here, at any rate," was the significant answer.
A curt salute, and Arnold turned away. He gave Nora his hand.
"Good-bye—and God bless you!" he said.
Her lips moved soundlessly. For an instant it seemed almost as though she clung to him. Then her hand fell listlessly to her side, and the next minute he too had gone.
Husband and wife did not speak. Nora seated herself at the table and buried her face in her arms. She cried without restraint, not loudly, but with low, monotonous, terrible sobs.
Her husband crossed to the door of his room. He stood there a moment, his head bowed, listening. It was as though he were receiving some final message from those sounds of piteous self-abandonment. But he did not look at Nora. He went out, and the soft click of the lock pierced through her grief, so that she started upright.
She saw that the door was closed, and that she was alone.
CHAPTER XV
THE SEA BETWEEN