She felt herself almost speechless, that in another minute she might
burst into sobs. He saw it--at least he saw a very little of it, and
misinterpreted the rest.

"I have tired you. Take my arm. You will soon be at home now." Then,
after a pause, "You will not be displeased at any thing I have said? We
part friends? No, we do not part; I shall see you every day for a week,
and be able to tell you all particulars of my journey, if you care to
hear."

"Thank you, yes--I do care."

They stood together, arm in arm. The dews were falling; a sweet, soft
lilac haze had begun to creep over the sea--the solemn; far-away sea that
he was so soon to cross. Involuntarily she clung to his arm. So near,
yet so apart! Why must it be? She could have borne his going away, if
it was for his good, if he wished it; and something whispered to her that
this sudden desire to get rich was not for himself alone. But, oh! If he
would only speak! One word--one little word! After that, any thing
might come--the separation of life, the bitterness of death. To the two
hearts that had once opened each to each, in the full recognition of
mutual love, there could never more be any real parting.

But that one word he did not say. He only took the little hand that lay
on his arm and pressed it, and held it--years after, the feeling of that
clasp was as fresh on her fingers as yesterday--the hearing the foot of
some accidental passer-by, he let it go, and did not take it again.

Just at this moment the sound of distant carriage wheels was heard.