I did not even say "good-bye." I do not think I could have done so, for weights seemed to hang upon my lips. Yet it was terribly hard to go. We had been separated for more than ten long years, and then we had met, as perhaps lovers never met before, met for a few brief hours only to be again divided.
I stood alone in the hall, as if waiting for some voice to recall me, but I heard none, so I placed my hat upon my head to go out alone. As I walked towards the door I thought of the sweet hours we had spent together, and of the Heaven of which my sin had deprived me. But nothing could undo the past. I must reap the harvest of my sin. Before I had gone far, however, Mr. Inch stepped out of one of the rooms and met me.
"Are you going out," he said in astonishment.
"Yes."
"But why? Surely there is no reason."
"Yes there is."
"But you are not going far? You will soon return?"
"I do not know how far I shall go; but I shall never return."
He looked at me in wonder; then a look of intelligence came into his face as though he had guessed the reason of my departure.
"Perhaps you do not know Miss Morton's feelings toward you," he said, with a smile. "This wonderful night has doubtless made us all half-mad; but don't forget what it was that caused her illness and, as we thought, her death."