It seemed to him now
that he had known her for a long time, that she had been a part of
him always, and that it was her spirit that he had been groping
and searching for, and could never find. For the space of those
few moments on the cliff she had driven out the emptiness and the
loneliness from his heart, and there filled him a wild desire to
make her understand, to talk with her, to stand shoulder to
shoulder with Pierre out there in the night, a comrade.
Suddenly his fingers closed tightly over the handkerchief. He
turned and looked steadily at Gregson. His friend was sleeping,
with his face to the wall.
Would not Pierre return to the rock in search of these articles
which his sister had left behind? The thought set his blood
tingling. He would go back--and wait for Pierre. But if Pierre did
not return--until to-morrow?
He laughed softly to himself as he drew paper toward him and
picked up the pencil which Gregson had used. For many minutes he
wrote steadily. When he had done, he folded what he had written
and tied it in the handkerchief. The strip of lace with which
Jeanne had bound her hair he folded gently and placed in his
breast pocket. There was a guilty flush in his face as he stole
silently to the door.
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