‘Laura! when I spoke to you this morning, it was in the full belief that I was a free man—that no tie existed on earth to debar me from saying the words I said then.’
‘I know it—I know it.’
‘The woman—my wife—whom I had every reason to believe had died long ago, will accompany me when I leave this place. But to-morrow she and I will part for ever. Her future will be duly cared for, and after that I shall never see her again. Laura! you and I may never meet again after to-day. Think of me sometimes when I am far away.’
‘Always—always.’
‘O heavens, when I think how happy we might have been! And now!’ Strong man though he was, it was all he could do to keep himself from breaking down. He was possessed by an almost irresistible impulse to fling his arms round her and press her passionately to his heart.
Love’s fine instinct told Laura something of what was passing in his breast. She stood up and laid one hand softly on his arm. ‘You had better go now,’ she said very gently. ‘No more words are needed between you and me. We know what we know, and no one can deprive us of that knowledge.’
He felt the wisdom of her words. To delay that which was inevitable was merely to prolong her misery and his own. Besides, his wife might enter the room at any moment. And yet—and yet it was so hard to have his treasure torn from him at the very moment he had made it his own!
Laura had a rose in the bosom of her dress. She took it out and fixed it in his button-hole. ‘Now go. Not another word,’ she whispered.
‘I shall write to you once before I sail,’ he said.
‘No—no; better not.’