"Good-bye," she whispered. "Go—"
"I am going."
Effie Bowen ran into the room from the kitchen.
"Aren't you going to take—" She stopped and turned to her mother. She must not remind Mr. Colville of his invitation; that was what her gesture expressed.
Colville would not say anything. He would not seize his advantage, and play upon the mother's heart through the feelings of her child, though there is no doubt that he was tempted to prolong the situation by any means. Perhaps Mrs. Bowen divined both the temptation and the resistance. "Tell her," she said, and turned away.
"I can't go with you to-night, Effie," he said, stooping toward her for the inquiring kiss that she gave him. "I am—going away, and I must say good-bye."
The solemnity of his voice alarmed her. "Going away!" she repeated.
"Yes—away from Florence. I'm afraid I shall not see you again."
The child turned from him to her mother again, who stood motionless. Then, as if the whole calamitous fact had suddenly flashed upon her, she plunged her face against her mother's breast. "I can't bear it!" she sobbed out; and the reticence of her lamentation told more than a storm of cries and prayers.
Colville wavered.