The nearest lamp showed him her face. What held him from making that pale loveliness his own? His heart throbbed as terribly as hers; he with difficulty heard when she spoke, so loud was the rush of blood in his ears. But he had begun the fight with himself. He could not turn away abruptly and leave her standing there; if the victory were to be won, it must be by sheer wrestle with the temptation, for her sake as well as his own. To let her so much as suspect his feeling were as bad as to utter it; nay, infinitely worse, for it would mean that he must not see her after to-night. He and she would then be each other's peril in a far direr sense than now. He replied to her 'I'm so sorry; I shall not be there to-morrow. I have to go out of London.' He looked her in the face unwaveringly. It was the look which tormented her, not that which she yearned for. She could not move away her eyes. 'You are going away, Mr. Egremont?' 'Yes, I am going out of England for a week or two--perhaps for longer.' It was wrong--all wrong. In spite of himself he could not but admit a note of pathos. The automatic voice of politeness would not come at his bidding. He should have left her on the other side of the bridge, where the harsh bells allowed no delicacies of tone. 'To France?' she asked. 'No. To an island very near France. I must not keep you standing here, Miss Trent. It is very cold.' Yes, the wind was cold, but perspiration covered his face. 'Please--only a minute. May I go to the library and do some more of the books? Are they all finished?' 'No. There's still one case of them, and more will be coming. Certainly you may go there if you wish.' Her voice fell. 'But I shan't know how to put them. No, I can't do it alone.' 'I shall write to Mr. Grail, and tell him what I have been doing. You can help him.' 'Yes.' The monosyllable fell from her like a whisper of despair. But the utterance of Grail's name had brought Egremont the last impulse he needed. 'When I come back,' he said, 'I shall find you in your new home. As I shan't see you again, let me say now how much I hope that you will live there a long time and very happily. Good-bye, Miss Trent.' Surely that was formal and automatic enough. Not one more word, not one more glance at her face. He had touched her hand, had raised his hat, was gone. She stood gazing after him until, in a minute or two, he was lost in the dark street behind the wharfs. So suddenly! He had scarcely said good-bye--so poor a good-bye! She had vexed him with her importunities; he wished to show her that she had not behaved in the way that pleased him. Scarcely a good-bye!