On the last day she told him that they would not meet again. Life had given to her all and more than all she had dared ask for. He must go back to his work in the world, to the high endeavor that was laid upon him as an obligation of his power, and now of their love. He must write her; she could not do without that, now; but guardedly, for other eyes than hers must read his words to her.
“Think what it is going to be to me,” she said, “to follow your course; to be able to pray for you, fighting. I shall take all the papers. And any which haven’t your name in shall be burned at once! How I shall be jealous even of your public who love and admire you! But you have left me no room for any other jealousy....”
“I am coming back to you,” he said doggedly, at the final moment of parting. “Sometime, Camilla.”
“You will be here always, in the darkness, with me. And I shall love my blindness because it shuts out anything but you,” she said.
Io rode with him to the station. On the way they discussed ways and means, the household arrangements when Io should have to leave, the finding of a companion, who should be at once nurse, secretary, and amanuensis for Royce Melvin’s music.
“How she will sing now!” said Io.
As they drew near to the station, she put her hand on his horse’s bridle.
“Did I do wrong to send for you, Cousin Billy?” she asked.
He turned to her a visage transfigured.
“You needn’t answer,” she said quickly. “I should know, anyway. It’s her happiness I’m thinking of. It can’t have been wrong to give so much happiness, for the rest of her life.”