s it, dearest?" I said quietly, trying to recall her to herself.
"Why do you look at me so?"

"Because I cannot see you! I have lost my sight! Oh, Victor, I am
DYING!"

The words were a strained cry of terrified anguish, and they cleft
through my brain like the stroke of an axe. With blinding suddenness I
knew then what was coming. My heart seemed turned into stone. Only
Reason rejected the truth. The gong stood on the table close beside us.
I stretched out my arm and struck it furiously, my eyes fixed in terror
on her face. The Great Change was there; the shadow already of
dissolution. The door was thrust open and a servant hurried in.

"A doctor!" I said to him, "quick for your life."

But I saw, before any doctor could reach us, she would have gone from
me. I strained my arms round her.

"Speak to me, my darling, speak," I said wildly, raising the dying head
higher on my breast.

Both her hands were clasped hard upon her heart. A frightful agony was
reflected in the bloodless face, but for the moment death retreated.

"Victor! To think I am dying! I shall never paint again! Oh, don't let
me go! Keep me! oh, keep me with you!"

My brain seemed bursting as I heard her. The only prayer of my life
broke then in a frenzy from my lips, "Great God! spare her!"

"Hold me up! oh, keep me, Victor! I am dying."

"Dearest, you are fainting!"

There was no answer. Heavier and heavier the pressure grew on my
breast, the arm slid heavily from my shoulders, the head fell slowly
backwards on my arm. I looked into her eyes. They were black as I had
seen them long ago in the studio. Fearfully, terribly dilated they
were, and in their depths was that look as if the soul were listening
to a far-off summons, calling, calling to it, to depart.

"My life! Speak to me once more! One word!"

Probably my voice did not reach her. For her already the silence held
but that one imperious command. My brief rule of this spirit was over.
It no longer heeded me. She no longer answered me. Her eyes were still
fixed upon me in helpless horror, terror, and despair; but they knew me
no longer. The unwilling soul had already started on its journey, and
its earthly love was no more to it than its earthly form. I held her
motionless, my eyes on hers, then I saw a glaze, a slow glaze fit upon
them, they set in it, and it told me she was dead.

Without a struggle, without a spasm, without a deeper breath to mark
the severance, her soul had dri