"Sure?"
"Sure of what you say—sure of what she is to him—sure that if he goes on he will—" She stopped.
He nodded.
"It means—" she said and stopped again.
"No adventure, no incident, but a going out from all that this life has to offer."
"You mean," she insisted, "you mean———?"
"Death," said Melville starkly, and for a space both stood without a word.
She winced, and remained looking into his eyes. Then she spoke again.
"Mr. Melville, tell him to come back to me."
"And———?"
"Tell him to come back to me, or"—a sudden note of passion rang in her voice—"if I have no hold upon him, let him go his way."
"But—" said Melville.
"I know," she cried, with her face set, "I know. But if he is mine he will come to me, and if he is not— Let him dream his dream."
Her clenched hand tightened as she spoke. He saw in her face she would say no more, that she wanted urgently to leave it there. He turned again towards the staircase. He glanced at her and went down.
As he looked up from the bend of the stairs she was still standing in the light.
He was moved to proclaim himself in some manner her adherent, but he could think of nothing better than: "Whatever I can do I will." And so, after a curious pause, he departed, rather stumblingly, from her sight.
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