CHAPTER XXVI.
AN EXPLANATION.
I walked away in unutterable despondency, relieved only by one purpose, one hope—to find Victoria. I had not far to go to seek her: her statuesque form was outlined against the clear sky above the Peak.
She turned to greet me with a grave smile.
‘You came away before it was over; I was wiser than you, I came away before it began. I suppose it is because we are wild people that we make such a ceremony of saying “Good-bye.” Before they taught us to be Christians, you know, we used to make just the same fuss about death.’
‘Is it good-bye, Victoria? I hardly know what it is. It looks like dismissal, without a word of leave-taking. You seem to have sent me away.’
‘I have sent you away,’ she said, her voice trembling a little, and then instantly recovering its tone. ‘Yes, I want always to be able to feel that I told you, when the time had come, to go.’
A pang shot through my heart that was not regret, but a sort of jealous rage.
‘You are a great observer of times and seasons, Victoria. Perhaps, even now, I have lingered too long.’
‘Perhaps,’ she said, with the note deeper, richer than before, but no less firm. Then she added, as though to make her meaning more clear:
‘If there were all the reasons in the world for keeping you, dearest friend, you must still go, to save your mother’s life. You feel the force of that reason as much as I do. Why seek for more?’