ion, then, is a word that has no
application in the world.

CHAPTER XIII

He was very, very weak and lay absolutely still and silent, chained
fast by the baleful weight of his flesh. Death had already put an end
to even his faintest quiverings.

His wonderful companion sat exactly where his fixed eyes fell on her,
at the foot of the bed. She held her arms resting on the base board of
the bed with her beautiful hands drooping. Her profile sloped downward
slightly, that fine design, that delicate etching of eternal sweetness
upon the gentle background of the evening. Under the dainty arch of
her eyebrows her large eyes swam clear and pure, miniature skies. The
exquisite skin of her cheeks and forehead gleamed faintly, and her
luxuriant hair, which I had seen flowing, gracefully encircled her
brow, where her thoughts dwelt invisible as God.

She was alone with the man who lay there as if already in his grave--she
who had wished to cling to him by a thrill and to be his chaste widow
when he died. He and I saw nothing on earth except her face. And in
truth, there was nothing else to be seen in the deep shadows of the
evening.

A voice came from the bed. I scarcely recognised it.

"I haven't said everything yet that I want to say," said the voice.

Anna bent over the bed as if it were the edge of a coffin to catch the
words that were to issue for the last time, no doubt, from the
motionless and almost formless body.

"Shall I have the time? Shall I?"

It was difficult to catch the whisper, which almost stuck in his
throat. Then his voice accustomed itself to existence again and became
distinct.

"I should like to make a confession to you, Anna. I do not want this
thing to die with me. I am sorry to let this memory be snuffed out. I
am sorry for it. I hope it will never die.

"I loved once before I loved you.

"Yes, I loved the girl. The image I have left of her is a sad, gentle
one. I should like to snatch it from death. I am giving it to you
because you happen to be here."

He gathered himself together to have a clear vision of the woman of
whom he was speaking.

"She was fair-haired and fair-skinned," he said.

"You needn't be jealous, Anna. (People are jealous sometimes even when
they are not in love.) It was a few years after you were born. You
were a little child then, and nobody turned to look at you on the
streets except the mothers.

"We were engaged in the ancestral p