At last she rose and with averted face walked across the room,
and stood looking at the storm through the big bow windows. I watched
her, but did not dare follow.
At length she returned to me, and I saw what I had instinctively known
the whole time--that she had been crying. I could not think why.
She put her arms round my neck, kissed me on the forehead and murmured,
"Poor Karl."
I felt crushed; I dared not move for fear of breaking the magic of the
moment, yet I longed to know more; I felt overwhelmed by some colossal
mystery that seemed to be enveloping me in its folds. Why did she pity
me? Why did she weep? Why didn't she answer my avowal? Why didn't she
tell me something? Such were some of the problems that perplexed me.
It was thus when the clock chimed seven. I told her that my leave was
up at seven o'clock, and that at 7.15 I had to be back on board the
boat. She remembered this, and in an instant the past quarter of an
hour might never have existed. She was all agitation and nervousness
lest I should be late on board--though at the moment I would have
cheerfully missed the boat to hear her say she loved me.
I tried to protest, but in vain. With feminine quickness she utilized
the incident to avoid a situation she evidently found full of
difficulty, and at 7.10, with the memory of a light kiss on my lips and
her God-speed in my ears I was in a taxi driving to the docks in a
blinding rain-storm--and we sail to-night.
For five, six, seven, perhaps ten days at the least, and at the most
for ever, I am doomed to be away from her and without news of her.
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