"Yes—it is nonsense, if that kind of love is nonsense—the kind that begins in boyhood and never dies—that holds to one woman and will have no other."
He felt a hand on his arm. In her voice came a gentler note. "Listen, Drowsy. My uncle and I are on our way to a train. I am starting for Italy. When I know my permanent address I will—perhaps—see that you get it—indirectly, but not from me. Then, without committing either of us, if you are still as blind, as reckless and perverse as you are to-night, you can——"
"Still alive, Ruth?"
The voice came from the darkness and was close behind them.
Cyrus was presented as an old friend. He assisted the uncle in pouring the gasoline into the tank. The uncle was in haste to get away, still hoping to catch a train. There were a few words of parting before the motor with its two occupants slid away into the darkness.
This parting, to Cyrus, seemed even more sudden than the old one, long years ago.
For many minutes he stood looking in their direction. The night was black, and he saw nothing. But in his heart was a rosy dawn.
Incidentally, but of far less importance, he knew on what portion of the earth he had landed.