His hell was within him, “where the worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched.” He rose abruptly. “I must go!” he said. He crossed to the garden door and flung it wide. A stream of golden sunshine poured in, paling the artificial light, and flooding the room with radiance. The sun had risen, a great golden ball, above the sea, and was slowly ascending from the pearly mist on the horizon. “I must go,” he said, again; but a dreamy quality had come into his voice, and he leaned against the door post, gazing at the sunrise. She came and stood beside him, and together they looked up to the rosy sky, flecked with soft billowy clouds of pearly whiteness, and down on the wide expanse of opal sea, reflecting in a royal highway from shore to horizon, the crimson glory of the rising sun. The water seemed to shout, once more, in a silent chorus of sparkling voices: “This is the way to the City of Gold! Leap from the cliff! Take to the waters! This—and this only—is your road for Home.” Suddenly a look of hope shone in his eyes. His whole figure sprang to alertness. He was transformed. “I must go!” he cried. “There lies the way.” He pointed to the sparkling path upon the waters. “It is my only chance; my one way Home.” “Not that, Nigel! Oh, not that!” Her clinging hands caught at his coat. “You always said those who did that would lose—” “Lose!” he shouted. “What have I to lose? Returned empty! I have nothing to lose.” He wrenched himself free from her detaining fingers. He gave no backward glance. He sped across the lawn, like a hound loosed from the leash; leapt the iron gate, and disappeared down the zigzag path leading to the beach. SCENE IX THE WATCHER Lady Tintagel turned back into the Oak Room, switched off the pale lights, gathered up her treasures, locked the despatch-box and, taking it with her, crossed the hall and slowly mounted the stairs to her bedroom. Each step meant a separate effort. The mainspring of her life was broken. This was the end. Arrived at her room, she slipped off her velvet gown, put on a soft white wrapper, and laid herself down upon the bed. “‘They went away toward the sunrising,’” she quoted. “Where is it written?” She repeated it, mechanically. “‘They went away toward the sunrising.’” Then memory returned and with it the shock of realisation. He had gone. He had gone for ever. He was swimming into the sunrise, and never coming back. Dear God—was there no hope, no help? She rose from the bed. She must watch to the end. She went out on to the wide balcony, overlooking the sea, where stood the telescope. SCENE X “WHEN THAT WHICH DREW FROM OUT THE BOUNDLESS DEEP—TURNS AGAIN HOME”