And she gave him Emile's letter.
"Doesn't that make you feel his loneliness?" she said, when he had finished it. "And think of it now—now when perhaps he knows that he is dying."
"You are going away," he said—"going away from here!"
His voice sounded as if he could not believe it.
"To-morrow morning!" he added, more incredulously.
"If I waited I might be too late."
She was watching him with intent eyes, in which there seemed to flame a great anxiety.
"You know what friends we've been," she continued. "Don't you think I ought to go?"
"I—perhaps—yes, I see how you feel. Yes, I see. But"—he got up—"to leave here to-morrow! I felt as if—almost as if we'd been here always and should live here for the rest of our lives."
"I wish to Heaven we could!" she exclaimed, her voice changing. "Oh, Maurice, if you knew how dreadful it is to me to go!"