As the time of parting drew nearer and nearer Leam became strangely sad and silent.  Little caressing as she was by nature or habit, of her own accord she had laid her small dry feverish hand in Edgar’s, and had gathered herself so much nearer to him that her slight shoulder touched his broad and powerful arm.  It was a very faint caress for an engaged girl to offer, but it was an immense concession for Leam to make; and Edgar understood it in its meaning more than its extent.  With the former he was delighted enough:  the latter would scarcely have contented a man with loose moist lips and the royal habit of taking and having all for which he had a fancy.  Nothing that Leam had said or done through the day had told him so plainly as did this quiet and by no means fervent familiarity how much she loved him, and how the power of that love was breaking up her natural reserve.

“It is as if I should never see you again,” she said sadly when, looking at his watch, he had exclaimed, “Time’s up, my darling!  I must be off in five minutes from this.  But I shall see you to-morrow,” he answered tenderly.  “I shall come down in the morning, as I have done to-day, and perhaps you will ride with me.  We will go over some of the old ground, where we used to go when I loved you and you did not think you would ever love me.  Ah, fairy that you are, how you have bewitched me!”

“That will be good,” said Learn, who did not resent it in him that she was compared to a thing that did not exist, but adding with a piteous look, “it is taking my life from me when you go.”

“You lovely little darling!  I don’t like to see you look unhappy, but I do delight to see how much you love me,” said Edgar.  “But you will not have to part with me for very long now.  I shall see you every day till the time comes when we shall never be separated—­never, never.”

“Ah, that time!” she sighed.  “It is far off.”

He smiled, as his manner was, behind his beard, so that she did not see it.  “It shall not be far off,” he said gravely.  “And now,” looking again at his watch and then at the sky, “I must go.”

The storm that had been threatening through the day was now gathering to a head, and even as Edgar spoke the first flash came, the first distant peal of thunder sounded, the first heavy raindrops fell.  There was evidently going to be a fearful tempest, and Edgar must leave now at once if he would not be in the thick of it before he reached home.

“Yes,” said Leam, noting the change in the sky, and unselfish always, “you must go.”

They rose and turned toward the house.  Hand in hand they walked slowly across the lawn and entered the drawing-room by the way of the window, by the way by which she had entered twice before—­once when she had disclaimed madame, and once when she had welcomed Josephine.

Tears were in her eyes:  her heart had failed her.

“It is like losing you for ever,” she said again.