"It's insanity," said Sara Lee angrily. "You don't mean it. And I
don't want that kind of love, if that is what you call it."
"And you will go back to that man who loves himself better than he loves
you?"
"That's not true!" she flashed at him. "He is sending for me, not to
get me back to him, but to get me back to safety."
"What sort of safety?" Henri demanded in an ominous tone. "Is he afraid
of me?"
"He doesn't know anything about you."
"You have never told him? Why?" His eyes narrowed.
"He wouldn't have understood, Henri."
"You are going back to him," he said slowly; "and you will always keep
these days of ours buried in your heart. Is that it?" His eyes softened.
"I am to be a memory! Do you know what I think? I think you care for
me more than you know. We have lived a lifetime together in these
months. You know me better than you know him, already. We have faced
death together. That is a strong tie. And I have held you in my arms.
Do you think you can forget that?"
"I shall never want to forget you."
"I shall not let you forget me. You may go--I cannot prevent that
perhaps. But wherever I am; Saralie, I shall stand between that lover
of yours and you. And sometime I shall come from this other side of the
world, and I shall find you, and you will come back with me. Back to
this country--our country."
They were boyish words, but back of them was the iron determination of a
man. His eyes seemed sunken in his head. His face was white. But there
was almost a prophetic ring in his voice.
Sara Lee went out and left him there, went out rather terrified and
bewildered, and refusing absolutely to look into her own heart.