In the shadow of the pines he could see the white face upturned to his. He took it between his hands. Why should he not take her to his breast and dare his fate? Nothing came between them but that shadow of honor.
He would obey it.
She would forget him: women were shallower than men. They always forgot. But for him there was only intolerable solitude to the end. He would meet it, although he had come back weakly to the forbidden fruit. He gloried in the consciousness that he was a most heroic martyr as he stooped and kissed her mouth again and again.
"Neckart!" called the captain.—"Somebody find Bruce. He has not a minute to spare."
Neckart released her. "I must make this train," he said. "I must go back to the office. You know that I go on the steamer that sails to-morrow."
Trains? Steamers? With these kisses on his lips?
"What line do you cross in, Bruce?" The captain had hurried down with the other men. "Where do you go first?" as they walked to the house.
"To France, and then to the East," buttoning his coat nervously, without a glance toward the stunned girl beside him.
"Be back in the spring, Mr. Neckart?" said a lisping young lady.
"Not for years. At least, that is my present intention."