"I will not come."
But Julian's face, his whole attitude, betokened the most piteous and degraded irresolution. This man, this creature, governed him despite himself. He felt once more for the hand of Cuckoo, and finding it, spoke again more firmly:
"I'll not come," he said. "I'll stay with her. I love her."
Valentine cast a malign glance upon Cuckoo, but again fear seemed to draw near to him. He made no answer.
"Only once I'll come," Julian said. "To-night. I lost Valentine in the dark. In the dark I'll seek for him, I'll find him again. Cuckoo shall come too, and the doctor. That flame—it went into the air. I'll find it—I'll find it again."
"Come, then—seek it—seek Valentine. But I, too, was with you in the dark. And in the dark I will destroy you. Till to-night then, Julian!"
He turned and went out.
CHAPTER IX
THE LAST SITTING
That evening Julian drove Cuckoo down Victoria Street. On the way they scarcely spoke. The doctor, summoned by a messenger, was there before them. He, although ignorant of what had passed been Julian and Valentine, was deeply expectant. Cuckoo was exhausted by the sleepless night of her vigil over Julian, and by the severe joy, almost like pain, that had burst upon her with his avowal and with his savage embrace.