his moment Maurice's breast rose and fell in a long sigh. Presently
the lids of his eyes rolled upward. Consciousness had returned. His
wandering gaze first encountered the sad, austere visage of the prelate.

"Monseigneur?" he said, faintly.

"Do you wish absolution, my son?"

"I am dying...?"

"Yes."

"I am dying.... God has my account and he will judge it. I am not a
Catholic, Monseigneur." He turned his head. "Your Highness?" He roved
about the room with his eyes and discerned the feminine touch in all the
appointments.

"Where am I?"

"You are in my room, Monsieur," she said. Her voice broke, but she met
his eyes with a brave smile. "Is there anything we can do for you?"

"Nothing. I am alone. To die.... Well, one time or another. And yet, it
is a beautiful world, when we but learn it, full of color and life and
love. I am young; I do not wish to die. And now... even in the midst...
to go... where? Monseigneur, I am dying; to me princes and kings signify
nothing. That is not to say that they ever did. In the presence of death
we are all equal. Living, I might not speak; dying... since I have but a
little while to stay... I may speak?"

"Yes, my son, speak. Her Highness will listen."

"It is to her Highness that I wish to speak."

Her lips quivered and she made no secret of her tears. "What is it you
wish to say to me, Monsieur Carewe?" She smoothed his forehead, and the
touch of her hand made him forget his pain.

"Ah, I know not how to begin," he said. "Forgive me if I offend your
ears.... I have been foolish even to dream of it, but I could not help
it.... When first I saw you in the garden.. the old dog was beside
you.... Even then it came to me that my future was linked to the thought
of you. I did not know you were so far beyond.... I was very cold, but
I dared not let you know it, for fear you would lead me at once to the
gate. That night wherever I looked I saw you. I strove to think of some
way to serve you, but I could not. I was so obscure. I never thought
that you would remember me again; but you did... That afternoon in the
carriage... I wanted to tell you then. That rose you dropped... it is
still on my heart. I loved you, and to this end. And I am glad to die,
for in this short fortnight I have lived.... My mother used to call me
Maurice ... to hear a woman repeat it again before I go."

"Maurice." She took his hand timidly in hers, and looked at the
archbishop.

"Speak to him from y