No; that it shall not be. . . .
Timar passed on the island one of those days which outweigh an eternity. A day full of endless feeling—a day of self-forgetfulness and waking dreams, when what a man has longed for in visions of the night actually stands before him.
But when on the third night, after a season of ideally rapturous intercourse, he returned from the moonlit world of enchantment to his solitary dark bedroom, the inward accuser, who would not be silenced or lulled to sleep, called him to account.
This voice would not let him sleep. He was restless all night, and dawn found him out under the trees; his decision was made—he would go away and not come back for a long time, till he was forgotten. Till he also had forgotten that he had lived three days in Elysium, that he had been permitted to know happiness.
When the sun rose, he had been round the whole island, and when he got back he found Frau Therese and her daughter busy preparing breakfast.
"I must go away to-day," said Michael to Therese.
"So soon," whispered Noémi.
"He has a great deal to do," said Therese to her daughter.
This was only natural enough. A captain is only a servant who must look after his affairs, and not waste the time for which he must account to his employer.
He was not pressed to stay—it was quite right that he should leave. He will come back, and they have plenty of time to wait for him—one year, two years, till the hour of death, till eternity. But Noémi did not touch her glass of new milk: she could not have swallowed a drop. He must not be detained; if he has business he must go and attend to it. Therese herself brought out his gun and knapsack, and said to Noémi, "You carry the gun, that Almira may not hurt it. Go with him to the boat."