peacefully in your arms? Indeed, I would not live if I might; for I have
proven traitor to my King, and it is right that traitors should die; and,
chief of all, I know that life can bring me naught more desirable than I
have known this night. What need, then, have I to live?"

Melite bent over him; for as he spoke he had lain back in a tall carven
chair by the east window. She was past speech. But now, for a moment, her
lips clung to his, and her warm tears fell upon his face. What better
death for a lover? thought Adhelmar.

Yet he murmured somewhat. "Pity, always pity!" he said, wearily. "I shall
never win aught else of you, Melite. For before this you have kissed me,
pitying me because you could not love me. And you have kissed me now,
pitying me because I may not live."

But Melite, clasping her arms about his neck, whispered into his ear the
meaning of this last kiss, and at the honeyed sound of her whispering
his strength came back for a moment, and he strove to rise. The level
sunlight through the open window smote full upon his face, which was
very glad. Melite was conscious of her nobility in causing him such
delight at the last.

"God, God!" cried Adhelmar, and he spread out his arms toward the dear,
familiar world that was slowly taking form beneath them,--a world now
infinitely dear to him; "all, my God, have pity and let me live a
little longer!"

As Melite, half frightened, drew back from him, he crept out of his
chair and fell prone at her feet. Afterward his hands stretched forward
toward her, clutching, and then trembled and were still.