It was the night before they had settled to leave: Steve had gone up to the Paradise to say good-bye to Mariposas. Bob said he couldn't and wouldn't, but sent a message by his friend. He was sitting alone, half wishing that he had gone just to see her face and hear her voice once more, when someone lifted the latch of his door, and the subject of his thoughts entered the hut. He rose quickly, then stood still, not knowing what to do; she broke the silence. "So you were going without bidding me good-bye?" she said. "Yes," he answered, huskily, for now that she was there, so near to him, it seemed harder than ever to go. "Yes, I thought it best." "Why?" "Because I loved you, because I love you." "You never told me so." "No, Steve loved you. Steve is a better fellow than I, and--and you said that no decent woman would take me. Steve told me the other night that he had asked you to be his wife, and that you had said no, that your heart was already given, and so we are both going. I could not stop and see you belonging to another." There was a silence. It had begun to rain; the heavy drops pattered against the window, and a rising wind rattled the door. "It is better that I go," he said. "I shall start now in some other way of life." "You and Steve?" "No, Steve will go back to his people; he has relations." "And you?" "I have no people. I have no one belonging to me, not a single soul--I never shall have." "You are quite alone in the world?" "Quite." "And that sweetheart you spoke of?" He did not answer, he only looked at her: she coloured and faltered. "It is not well for a man to live alone," she said, unconsciously quoting. "Bob," coming a little nearer to him, "do you remember that day that you carried me?" "Is it likely I could forget?" "And you thought I was hurt, but I wasn't. Bob"--softly--"I _wanted_ to be taken in your arms." He did not speak, he did not understand--why had she wanted him to take her in his arms? "And they are so strong," she went on, "they held me so comfortably. Bob--since you are going away, since after to-night I shall never see you again--take me into them once more." He took a step backwards. "But the man you love!" he said. "Bob! Must I ask you twice?" He paused no longer, he threw his strong arms around her, lifting her in them. "Now," she said, a shy smile creeping over her lips, "kiss me once--we are friends, parting for ever." He bent his head; he kissed her, not once, but fifty times. "Great God!" he said, hoarsely, "how can I go? How can I part with her now?" "Is it hard?" she said. "Poor Bob," touching his face gently with her slender fingers, "have I made it harder? I must go now and you must go to-morrow; put me down." He did not obey, he held her close. "Who is it that you love?" he asked. She looked straight into his eyes. "Is it fair to ask?" she answered. "And does it matter--you go to-morrow?" "Yes, I go to-morrow."