He went up to her and without a word took her in his arms. It was a supreme farewell and she knew it. She felt it in the quiver of agony which went right through him as he pressed her so close--so close that her breath nearly left her body and her heart seemed to stand still. She felt it in the sweet, sad pain of the burning kisses with which he covered her face, her eyes, her hair, her mouth. It was the final passionate embrace, the irrevocable linking of soul and heart and mind, the parting of earthly bodies, the union of immortal souls. It was the end of all things earthly, the beginning of things eternal. She understood and her resistance vanished. All that had been dark to her became suddenly transfigured and illumined. With the merging of earthly passion into that Love which is God's breath, she--the pure and selfless woman, God's most perfect work on earth--became as God, and knew what was good and what had been evil. Neither of them spoke; the word "farewell" was not uttered between them. His final kiss was upon her eyes, and she closed them after that, the better to imprint on her memory the vision of his face lit up with the divine fire of an unconquerable passion. The entrance of Colonel Harris brought them both back to present reality. He, poor man, looked severely troubled, and distinctly older than he usually did. "Did you want me, Luke?" he asked. "Yes, sir," replied the latter, "the police are here, and I thought that perhaps you and Louisa would be so kind as to take Edie along with you. Jim is going to sleep in barracks to-night, and Edie ought not to stay here alone." "Yes. We'll take Edie," said the colonel curtly, "she'll be all right with us. Are you ready, Lou?" "Yes, dear," she replied. And she passed out of the door without another word, or another look. The supreme farewell had been spoken. Further words--even another kiss--would have almost desecrated its undying memory. The two men remained alone, and Colonel Harris without any hesitation held out his hand to Luke de Mountford. "The police are here, sir," said Luke, without taking the hand that was offered him. "I know they are," muttered the other, "that's no reason why you should refuse an old friend's hand." Then as Luke--hesitating no longer--placed his burning hand in that of his friend, Colonel Harris said quietly, almost entreatingly: "It's only a temporary trouble, eh, my boy? You can easily refute this abominable charge, and prove your innocence?" "I think not, sir," replied Luke. "I cannot refute the charge and my innocence will be difficult to prove." "But you are mad, man!" retorted the older man hotly. "You are mad! and are breaking a woman's heart!" "Heaven forgive me for that, sir. It is the greatest crime." Colonel Harris smothered a powerful oath. Luke's attitude puzzled him more and more. And his loyalty had received such a succession of shocks to-day that it would have been small wonder if it had begun to totter at last.