He shut the book and put it in his pocket. For some time he remained
silent, gazing eastward across the waves, which came from afar to break
against the rock at their feet. A small white pyramidal object stood up
against the horizon verge, and upon this Drayton's attention appeared
to be concentrated.
"If you should ever decide to come," he said at length, "and want the
services of a courier who knows the ground well, I shall be at your
disposal."
"Come where?" she said, falteringly.
"Eastward. To Europe."
"You will go with me?"
"Hardly that. But I shall be there to receive you."
"You are going back?"
"In a month, or thereabouts."
"Oh, Mr. Drayton! Why?"
"Well, for several reasons. My coming here was an experiment. It might
have succeeded, but it was made too late. I am too old for this young
country. I love it, but I can be of no service to it. On the contrary,
so far as I was anything, I should be in the way. It does not need me,
and I have been an exile so long as to have lost my right to inflict
myself upon it. Yet I am glad to have been here; the little time that I
have been here has recompensed me for all the sorrows of my life, and I
shall never forget an hour of it as long as I live.
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