" Greeting and farewell! It
was a fitting gift to pass between people in their position. Beatrice,
trembling sorely, whispered that she would wear it on her heart, upon
her hand she could not put it yet awhile--it might be recognised.
Then thrice did they embrace there upon the desolate shore, once, as it
were, for past joy, once for present pain, and once for future hope,
and parted. There was no talk of after meetings--they felt them to
be impossible, at any rate for many years. How could they meet as
indifferent friends? Too much they loved for that. It was a final
parting, than which death had been less dreadful--for Hope sits ever by
the bed of death--and misery crushed them to the earth.
He left her, and happiness went out of his life as at nightfall the
daylight goes out of the day. Well, at least he had his work to go to.
But Beatrice, poor woman, what had she?
Geoffrey left her. When he had gone some thirty paces he turned again
and gazed his last upon her. There she stood or rather leant, her hand
resting against the wet rock, looking after him with her wide grey eyes.
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