“Then go.... go soon, Blaise! I—I can’t bear very much more.”
He opened his arms, then, and she went to him, and for a space they clung together in silence. For the last time he set his lips to hers, held her once more against his heart. Then slowly they drew apart, stricken eyes gazing lingeringly into other eyes as stricken, and presently the closing of the terrace door told her that he had gone, and that she must turn her feet to the solitary path of those who have said farewell to love.
Henceforth, she would be alone—living or dying, quite alone.
It was long past midnight when Claire returned from the Dower House.
She found Jean sitting beside the grey embers of a burnt-out fire, her hands lying folded upon her knee, her eyes staring stonily in front of her in a fixed, unseeing gaze.
Claire called to her softly, as when one wakes a sleeper.
“Jean!”
Jean turned her head.
“So you have got back?” she said dully. She stood up stiffly, as though her limbs were cramped. “Claire, I am going away—right away from here—to Beirnfels.”
“Why?” asked Claire.