And so, after a time, Margaret drew away from Claudius gently, finding his hands with hers as she moved, and holding them.
"Come," said she, "let us go." They were her first words, and Claudius thought the deep voice had never sounded so musical before.

But the words, the word "go," sounded like a knell on his heart.

He had forgotten that he must sail on the morrow.

He had forgotten that it was so soon over.
They went away, out of the drizzling fog and the mist, and the evil sea-breath, up to the cliff walk and so by the wet lanes homewards, two loving, sorrowing hearts, not realising what had come to them, nor knowing what should come hereafter, but only big with love fresh spoken, and hot with tears half shed.
"Beloved," said Claudius as they stood together for the last time in the desolation of the great, dreary, hotel drawing-room--for Claudius was going--"beloved, will you promise me something ?" Margaret looked down as she stood with her clasped hands on his arm.
"What is it I should promise you--Claudius ?" she asked, half hesitating.
Claudius laid his hand tenderly--tenderly, as giants only can be tender, on the thick black hair, as hardly daring, yet loving, to let it linger there.
"Will you promise that if you doubt me when I am gone, you will ask of the Duke the 'other reason' of my going ?" "I shall not doubt you," answered Margaret, looking proudly up.
"God bless you, my beloved!"-- and so he went to sea again..