He stood silent.
"I might have known before you went--I might have known from that first meeting, in May, in the glen! But I was a fool, and vague, and willing, I suppose, to put tip of tongue to a land of sweetness! If, mistaken myself, I helped you to mistake, I am bitter sorry and I ask your forgiveness! But the thing, Glenfernie, the thing stands! It's for us to part." He stared at her dumbly.

In every line of her, in every tone of her, there was finality.

He was tenacious of purpose, capable of long-sustained and patient effort, but he seemed to know that, for this life, purpose and effort here might as well be laid aside.

The knowledge wrapped him, quiet, gray, and utter.

He put his hands to his brow; he moved a few steps to and fro; he came to the wall and leaned against it.