“Give me an address, I will write to you. I promise to let you know what becomes of me.”
“You promise to tell me truly of yourself—everything—” his voice failed him. There was a film over his eyes, and he staggered from giddiness as he got up.
“Yes—everything,” she said very low, and the words seemed hardly to escape the barrier of her lips.
“Am I never to see you, never? My God! that is hard—”
“I must be away from everything that reminds. I must hide. I will forget. Can’t you see that I shall go mad? I must have time.” Her voice rose hysterically for the first time, and she twisted her hands.
“Yes, sweet! I know, I know—” He soothed her like a child, and, with the need for that soothing, he felt some strength returning to him. He knew that he must use it quickly before it left him again.
“I will send you my address to-night,” he said, “I shall go away to-morrow. You promise to write. Go, dear, I won’t come with you.”
He caught her suddenly in his arms, and held her face to his, kissing it passionately. The tears ran down his face and wetted her cheeks—her eyes were dry.
“God keep you—remember I am always yours, to do as you please with.”
She did not speak. Her mournful eyes were lifted for a moment to his, the shadow of a smile quivered pitifully on the curve of her lips, and she was gone from his arms.