Soft Clare in his arms again! Clare's tender lips touching his! Oh, which was a dream and which was the truth? The three years of excitement, sorrow, and disappointment in burning India; the marches under the fierce glaring sun; long days of drought and thirst, when facing death among the fierce hill tribes; nights, chill and bitter, among the Himalayan snows; the hard existence in barrack, tent, and bungalow, all so different from what his Guards life had been in London—the present or the past!
But to what would the present lead?
They knew too well that, so far as Sir Carnaby was concerned, his consent would never be given.
'Heavens, Clare!' exclaimed Trevor, in this bitter conviction, 'to what a death in life does your father doom you!'
'Say us, Trevor,' said she, in a choking voice.
'Bless you, dear girl, for saying so; but you it seems, and all for my sake!'
At last he had to retire—literally to tear himself away.
So there was acted and there was ended, for the time, their bitter but sorrowful romance, in that most prosaic of all places a fashionable drawing-room, with all its mirrors, lounges, porcelains, and objets d'art, which seem so necessary to that apartment which Button Cook calls essentially 'the British drawing-room,' and mentally over and over again did Trevor Chute react and recall every detail of that delicious, yet painful interview, which had come so unexpectedly about, while the swift tidal train bore him from Charing Cross; and her last words seemed to linger yet in his ear—her face before his eye, like the vision of a waking dream—as on the deck of the steam-packet he sat, apart from all, full of his own thoughts, and saw the lights of Harwich and Landguard Fort mingling with moonshine on the water, while the clang of the Bell Buoy came on the wind, and the Shipwash floating beacon was soon left astern, and Trevor Chute, careless of whither he went, changed his mind and resolved to go to Germany.
Happy thoughts banished sleep from his eyes, and on deck he stayed nearly the whole night through, till the muddy waters of the Maese were rippling against the bow of the Dutch steamer.
Clare loved him still, as she had ever, ever done! New happiness grew with hope in his heart.