He took Esther by
the hand, looking at her mournfully.
'Then this is farewell,' he said.
'Yes,' she answered. There was no tone in her voice, and she
did not return his gaze.
'For ever,' added Dick.
'For ever,' she repeated mechanically.
'I have had hard measure,' he continued. 'In time I believe
I could have shown you I was worthy, and there was no time
long enough to show how much I loved you. But it was not to
be. I have lost all.'
He relinquished her hand, still looking at her, and she
turned to leave the room.
'Why, what in fortune's name is the meaning of all this?'
cried Van Tromp. 'Esther come back!'
'Let her go,' said Dick, and he watched her disappear with
strangely mingled feelings. For he had fallen into that
stage when men have the vertigo of misfortune, court the
strokes of destiny, and rush towards anything decisive, that
it may free them from suspense though at the cost of ruin.
It is one of the many minor forms of suicide.
'She did not love me,' he said, turning to her father.
'I feared as much,' said he, 'when I sounded her. Poor Dick,
poor Dick. And yet I believe I am as much cut up as you are.
I was born to see others happy.'
'You forget,' returned Dick, with something like a sneer,
'that I am now a pauper.'
Van Tromp snapped his fingers.
'Tut!' said he; 'Esther has plenty for us all.
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