"Au revoir, big sweetheart…. Don't you dare to cry…. I know how it hurts; but be a brave little woman…. I'll make my stay just as short as possible."
"You'll cable?" she asked, tremulously.
"Cable?" he repeated. "I'll keep that wireless snapping all the way across…. Now let me see you smile."
She tried. It was a wan, sad little smile—a smile that was close of kin to a tear. She clung to him for a moment; then her fingers loosened their hold; she stepped back, white teeth holding nether lip. It was bitterly hard.
He looked; and with more understanding than many a man might have, turned swiftly.
Parks stepped forward.
"Shan't I go with you?" he asked.
Schuyler shook his head.
"No," he returned. "Come with Mrs. Schuyler—meet me at the boat. I'm going alone."
He thrust open the door. Came a wail of wind, a swirl of rain; and then, as he crossed the threshold, the very heaven itself seemed to be reft apart with a great, wild flash of lightning—the roar of the thunder was appalling.