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418 man's wife. And that is my love for you, Nell. I would have you love me to the very last beat of your heart. I would have the last thought of your sweet soul, the last call from your lips; as your name will be on mine when I die, sweetheart; as I shall love you to the day of my death—and after. And when we meet, as we shall meet, in another world, where there are no marriages, will you come to my side with lips as pure and untouched as they have ever been, save to me? as on mine no touch of living woman shall rest between now and then—so help me, God!"

"I will come to you," I say, simply.

The calm that lay on me, heavy as the snow on the once throbbing earth at my feet, has broken up now, and a wild fever of agony possesses me—a breathless longing to touch his hand, to speak one word of love and comfort to him—and I may not, dare not, though we are young, loving, together, though not a yard of space lies between us. We are separated, not for a week or a year, but for ever. Since he lifted his head from my shoulder when the bells were ringing, there has been space between us—Death himself could not set us farther from each other. I must get away soon—soon, or I shall break down utterly. I stand up. "Good-bye," I say in a whisper; "I am going now."

"So soon?" he says, and his voice is almost as faint as mine; "shall we not be apart all the rest of our lives?"

"Will talking give us back our murdered happiness, Paul? will talking about our beautiful yesterday quicken our dead to-morrow? We can never be any more to each other than we are now; we can never be any less. Let me go now while I have the strength."

"Strength!" he repeats hoarsely, as he peers into my face; "and I have brought you to this, my poor broken little white flower. It is my mad, senseless sin that has driven the colour from your cheeks, the gladness from your sweet eyes. Nell, Nell!