Unslept, Cameron made rapidly the prosaic preparations for his departure, and a valet had borne off his portmanteaus, rugs, and gun-case to the entrance hall, where the sleepy Mr. Tappleton and a wagonette awaited him.
As he was about to descend the great, silent staircase, suddenly Eveline, fully dressed for the day and softly slippered, stood before him, her mignonne face very pale, and her soft hazel eyes inflamed by past weeping.
'Evan!'
'My darling!'
No housemaids were about as yet, and no prying eyes were there, nor had Ronald Gair with his pipes blown reveille.
'I could not let you go without—without one word of farewell,' she sobbed.
Long and mute was their embrace, and the heart of Cameron swelled as if to bursting with mingled love and gratitude. He pressed her to it. It was their parting embrace, and both seemed to feel in it that which a writer has described as 'the vibration of an agony.'
'I feel as if I were bereft of reason!' he whispered.
'My poor Evan—my own dear love!' cooed the girl. One kiss more, and he was gone.
When or where, if ever, would they meet again?