and shall not see it, and I shall lie forgotten when you are in the
midst of your happy years."

Her words smote on my heart with a keen pain of compassion. "Do not say
that you will be forgotten!" I exclaimed passionately; "for should you
be taken away, I shall still love and worship your memory, as I worship
you now when you are alive."

She caressed my hand, but did not speak; and when I looked up, her worn
face had dropped on the pillow, and her eyes were closed. "I am
tired--tired," she murmured. "Stay with me a little longer, but leave me
if I sleep."

And in a little while she slept. The light was on her face, resting on
the purple pillow, and with the soulful eyes closed, and the lips that
had no red color of life in them also closed and motionless, it was like
a face carved in ivory of one who had suffered like Isarte in the house
and perished long generations ago; and the abundant dark, lusterless
hair that framed it, looked dead too, and of the color of wrought iron.






Chapter 18

Chastel's words sank deep in my heart--deeper than words had ever sunk
before into that somewhat unpromising soil; and although she had
purposely left me in the dark with regard to many important matters, I