Merefleet followed at a more
leisurely pace. He made no attempt to join them, however. He had done his
part. There remained no more to do. With a heavy sense of irrevocable
loss he went to bed and slept the dreamless sleep of exhaustion for many
hours.
The adventure was over. It had ended with a tameness that gave it an
almost commonplace aspect. But Merefleet's resolution was of stout
manufacture.
The consequences of that night and day of peril involved his whole
future. Merefleet recognised this and resolved to act forthwith, in
defiance of Seton or any other obstacle. He did not realise till later
that there was opposed to him a strength which even his will was
powerless to overcome. He did not even take the possibility of this
into consideration.
He was very sure of himself and confident of success when he descended
late on the following morning to a solitary breakfast--sure of himself,
sure of the smile of that fickle goddess Fortune--sure, thrice sure, of
the woman he loved.
And he watched for her coming with a rapture that deprived him of his
appetite.
But Mab did not come.
Instead, Herbert Seton presently strolled into the room, greeted him, and
paused by his table.
"Be good enough to join me on the terrace presently, will you?" he said
abruptly.
And Merefleet nodded with a chill sense of foreboding. But his resolution
was unalterable.
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