They went, but Dorian dwelt ceaselessly on the memory of that strange night when Nita had come to him and laid her head on his breast and her arms about his neck—aye, and kissed him, too, with ardent lips that seemed to burn with the breath of life. He prayed Heaven to grant him that sweet vision of his lost love again.
Van Hise was in despair.
"He will go crazy in earnest if he keeps on this way," he said to himself, despondently.
It was nearing spring then, and they were in Paris. But Dorian was familiar with Paris. Perhaps he had exhausted its delights long ago. He wearied of its splendors.
"I am tired. Let us go somewhere else," he said impatiently.
"But, my dear fellow, we have been everywhere."
"No, we have not. I know some men who are going on a journey into the interior of Norway. I have accepted for us both their invitation to join the party," said reckless Dorian.
"It will be quite out of the world," groaned the soldier, but he yielded.
It was strange that Dorian and Nita should both be abroad so many months without meeting each other, or even being aware of each other's movements.