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"Go to my sister," he faltered out to Fletcher; "tell her go to Lady Byron you will see her, and say" nothing more could be heard but broken ejaculations: "Augusta Ada my sister, my child. Io lascio qualche cosa di caro nel mondo. For the rest, I am content to die." Never perhaps was there such a national lamentation.
And Io, at his side, saw too and marveled at the miracle. For the waiting woman looked out of eyes as clear and untroubled as those of a child, softened only with the questioning wistfulness of darkening vision.
As the pirate sprang to the head of the passage leading to the inner house, a swarm of desperadoes poured through it, Gauls, Germans, Africans, Italian renegadoes, perhaps ten in all, and in their midst half borne, half dragged something white! "Io triumphe!" called a voice from the throng, "my bird will leave her cage!" "The lady!
Io had run away to marry the future Duke of Carfax, partly through the charm which a reckless, headlong, and romantic personality imposed upon her, but largely for the excitement of a reckless, headlong, and romantic escapade. The tragic interposition of the wreck seemed to her present consciousness, cooled and sobered by the spacious peace of the desert, to have been providential.
But the banks slipped by in an endless chain. Presently they came abreast of three horsemen riding the river trail, who urged their horses into a gallop, keeping up with them for a mile or more. As they fell away, Io waved a handkerchief at them, to which they made response by firing a salvo from their revolvers into the air.
In the face of the evidence before us we must believe this, or else that, perhaps, as in the case of the asteroid Hilda, something like a collision has rejuvenated it. This might account for its size, and for the Nautical Almanac's statement that there is a 'small and variable' inclination to its orbit, while Io and Europa revolve exactly in the plane of Jupiter's equator."
Long days of changeless sunlight on the desert, an intolerable glare. From the doorway of the lonely station Banneker stared out over leagues of sand and cactus, arid, sterile, hopeless, promiseless. Life was like that. Four weeks now since Io had left him. And still, except for the Bible, no word from her. No sign. Silence. Why that? Anything but that!
Miss Van Arsdale dismounted and, after a moment's hesitancy, the other followed her example. The hostess threw open the door and a beautiful, white-ruffed collie rushed to her with barks of joy. She held out a hand to her new guest. "Be welcome," she said with a certain stately gravity, "for as long as you will stay." "It might be some time," answered Io shyly. "You're tempting me."
Ta-meri gathered up the stakes and Nechutes, collecting the dice, went to find her a seat. But while he was gone, she wandered over to Kenkenes and leaned on the back of his chair. "Let me give thee a truth that seemeth to deny itself in the expression," Io said, turning so that she faced the young artist. "Say on," he replied, bending over her.
"The rest of her life," he echoed, in a hushed accent of dread. While Enderby was getting his ticket, Io waited on the front platform. A small, wiry man came around the corner of the station, glanced at her, and withdrew. Io had an uneasy notion of having seen him before somewhere. But where, and when? Certainly the man was not a local habitant.