'I shall not leave until you bid me, even though you should forget to call me all in my life!' he said, as the boat slipped through the dark water.
'Such oblivion would be a poor reward.'
'I have had reward enough. You have called me your friend.'
She was silent. The boat ran through the dusk and the rippling rays of light streaming from the sides of the yacht, and they went on board. He stood a moment with uncovered head before her on the deck, and she gave him her hand.
'You will come to the Holy Isle?' she said, as she did so.
'If you bid me,' he said, as he bowed and kissed her hand. His lips trembled as he did so, and by the lamplight she saw that he was very pale.
'I shall bid you,' she said, very softly, by-and-by. Farewell!'
He bowed very low once more, then he dropped over the yacht's side into the boat waiting below; the splash of the oars told her he was gone back to Idrac. The yawl weighed anchor and began to go up the river, a troublesome and tedious passage at all seasons. She sat on deck watching the strong current of the Danube as it rolled on under the bow of the schooner. For more than a league she could see the beacon that burned by the water-gate of the fortress. When the curve of the stream hid it from her eyes she felt a pang of painful separation, of wistful attachment to the old dreary walls where she had seen so much suffering and so much courage, and where she had learned to read her own heart without any possibility of ignoring its secrets. A smile came on her mouth and a moisture in her eyes as she sat alone in the dark autumn night, while the schooner made her slow ascent through the swell that accompanies the influx of the Drave.