The sound of the turret-door banging behind him recalled him to his
surroundings. He awoke to the fact that the wind was chill, and that a
drift of rain was coming in from the sea. With an impatient shrug he
turned. Why was he lingering here like a drunken reveller at a table
of spilt wine? He would go down to his yacht and find Larpent--Larpent
who had also loved and lost. They would go out on the turn of the
tide--the two losers in the game of life--and leave the spilt wine behind
them.
Impulsively he strode back along the ramparts. The game was over, and he
would never play again; but at least he would face the issue like a man.
No one, not even Larpent, should ever see him flinch. So he reached
the turret-door, and came abruptly to a halt.
It was no vision that showed her to him, standing there in her slender
fairness, wrapt in a cloak that glimmered vaguely blue in the glimmering
starlight. Her face was very pale, and he saw her frightened eyes as she
stood before him. Her hands were tightly clasped together, and she spoke
no word at all.
The door was shut behind her, and he saw that she was trembling from head
to foot.
He stood motionless, within reach of her, but not touching her.
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