"Thank you—for everything," she murmured, sudden tears starting to her eyes. "I only wish Theo could have come too!"
"I'll tell him that. It may do him good!"
In spite of herself the blood flew to her cheeks. But before she could answer, the train jolted forward—and she was gone.
Paul Wyndham stood a long while motionless, looking into empty space; then, with a sensible jar, he came very completely back to earth.
It was near sunset when he reached their haven of refuge, a small hotel set in a rocky garden overlooking the sea. No sign of Theo within doors,—and Paul strolled down the narrow pathway that led to his friend's favourite seat. There, at the far end, leaning upon the balustrade, he sighted an unmistakable figure black against a blazing heaven rippled with light clouds that gave promise of greater glory to come.
Footsteps behind him roused Desmond. He started and turned about with a new eagerness that was balm to the heart of his friend.
"Ah—there you are! It's been a long day." His eyes scanned Wyndham's face. "You've seen her?" he asked abruptly.
"Yes—I have seen her."
"How did she look? Well?"