He kissed the cold hand; he looked his last—for many a long year, perhaps!—at the pale and beautiful face. “How she loves me!” he thought. “How the parting distresses her!” He still held her hand; he would have lingered longer, if Mrs. Crayford had not wisely waived all ceremony and pushed him away.
The two ladies followed him at a safe distance through the crowd, and saw him step into the boat. The oars struck the water; Frank waved his cap to Clara. In a moment more a vessel at anchor hid the boat from view. They had seen the last of him on his way to the Frozen Deep!
“No Richard Wardour in the boat,” said Mrs. Crayford. “No Richard Wardour on the shore. Let this be a lesson to you, my dear. Never be foolish enough to believe in presentiments again.”
Clara’s eyes still wandered suspiciously to and fro among the crowd.
“Are you not satisfied yet?” asked Mrs. Crayford.
“No,” Clara answered, “I am not satisfied yet.”
“What! still looking for him? This is really too absurd. Here is my husband coming. I shall tell him to call a cab, and send you home.”
Clara drew back a few steps.
“I won’t be in the way, Lucy, while you are taking leave of your good husband,” she said. “I will wait here.”
“Wait here! What for?”