Victoria entered. If the red had not come back to her cheek, the sickening white had left. She seemed quite calm.
‘Our guest is going away to-morrow, girl, said the old man. ‘Tell him how we hate to say good-bye.’
‘Both our guests are going away, my father,’ was Victoria’s reply.
Her stern serenity seemed to preclude debate. I could only look at her. The old man, speechless, too, for the moment, glanced from one to the other of us. Even the Captain seemed roused to a perception of something out of the common.
‘Both going away,’ repeated the Ancient, after a pause. ‘Surely you, sir——’
‘My father,’ said Victoria gently, ‘I know what I am saying; and our friend knows it too. He must go. Let us try to thank God that we have kept him so long.’
‘What’s amiss?’ inquired the old man. ‘What have we done? I’ve always wanted him to think that he is master here.’
‘Dearest friend!’ I said, taking his honest hand—I could say no more.
‘This is it, my father,’ said the girl, coming to where we sat, and kissing the old man. ‘Our friend’s life is not our life. He has his own people, and his people call him. They have been calling to him ever since he came to us, and last night their voice reached him half way round the world. The time has come for another parting, that is all. Sooner or later, all things end that way with us. Our little Island is the house of parting, and God has made us to live alone.’
‘If I only knew what we had done amiss!’ repeated the foolish old man.