"Cruel, cruel, cruel Suzette! Two years of exile--two wasted lonely years--years of fond longing and looking back! Why did you send me away? No, I won't ask. It was all in honour, all in honour. My dearest is made up of honourable scruples, and delicate sympathies, which this rough nature of mine can't understand. But you loved me, Suzette. You loved me from the first, as I loved you. Our hearts went out to meet each other over the bridge of my violin--flew out to each other in a burst of melody. And we will go on loving each other till the last breath--the last faint glimmer of life's brief candle. Ah, love, forgive me if I rave. I am beside myself with joy." "I think you are a little out of your mind," she faltered. She let him rave. She accepted the situation. Ah, surely, surely it was this man she loved. It was this eager spirit which had passed like a breath of fire between her and Allan; this masterful nature which had possessed itself of her heart, as of a mere chattel that must needs be the prize of the strongest. She submitted to the tyranny of a love which would not accept defeat; and presently they sat down side by side in the soft lamplight, close to the piano which she loved only a little less than if it were human. They sat down side by side, his arm still round the slim waist, plighted lovers. "Poor Allan!" she sighed, with a remorseful pang. "Has he gone down to Suffolk?" "To Suffolk? He is on the Congo--past Stanley Falls, I hope, by this time." "On the Congo! You have left him! Quite alone! Oh, Geoffrey, how could you?" "Why not? He is safe enough. He knows the country as well as I. I left him near Kassongo, where he could get as big a train and as many stores as he wanted; though we have done nowadays with long trains, armies of porters, and a mountainous load of provisions." "What will Lady Emily say? She will be dreadfully unhappy. I could not have believed you and Allan would part company--after Mr. Patrington's death." "Why not? We were both strangers in the land. He knows how to take care of himself as well as I do." "But two men--companions and friends--surely they would be safer than one Englishman travelling alone?" said Suzette, deeply distressed at the thought of what Allan's mother would suffer when she knew that her son's comrade had left him. "Do you think two men are safer from fever, poisoned arrows, the bursting of a gun, the swamping of a canoe? My dearest, Allan is just as safe alone as he was when he was one of three. He had learnt a good deal about the country, and he knew how to manage the natives, and he had stores and ammunition, and the means of getting plenty more. Don't let me see that sweet face clouded. Ah, my love, my love, I shall never forget your welcoming smile--the light upon your face as you ran to the window. I had always believed in your love--always--even when you were cruellest; but to-night I know--I know that I am the chosen one."