“Well, Olivia,” he said gravely. He took her hands in his, wondering, dully, if he would ever see her again. “I’m just off, Olivia.”
“I wanted to see you,” she said, in a shaking little voice. “I know I’ve only a minute. I tried last night. I want to thank you, Charles. You’ve been good. You’ve been very good to me. Whether you succeed. Or don’t succeed. I mean now. On shore. I. I thank you. Thank you. God keep you.”
“You, too, Olivia.”
He felt that this was the supreme moment of his life, this moment in the dark, with the forms of seamen passing across the door, and the white, beloved face half seen, strained up towards him. He knew that he might kiss her face. Their souls were very near together, nearer, he knew, than they would ever again be. There was the beloved face near his; there was his reward, after all these days, after all this wandering the world.
“Good-bye, Olivia.”
She did not answer, but her hands pressed his hands to her side for a moment.
“We shall be back in a few hours, Olivia.”
“Ah, not that. Not that,” she said, shuddering. “Never that again.”
“Perhaps, Olivia, he may be with us.”
“No,” she said faintly.