In life and in death they can never part
more."
* * * * *
Dawn was creeping through the orchid blinds of their sleeping chamber when
this strange Queen disengaged herself from her lover's embrace, and bent
over him, kissing his young curved lips. He stirred not--the languor of
utter prostration was upon him, and held him in its grasp. In the uncertain
light his sleep looked pale as death.
The lady gazed at him, an anguish too deep for tears in her eyes. For was
not this the end--the very end? Fierce, dry sobs shook her. There was
something terrible and tigerish in her grief. And yet her will made her
not linger--there was still one thing to do.
She rose and turned to the writing-table by the window, then drawing the
blind aside a little she began rapidly to write. When she had finished,
without reading the missive over, she went and placed it with a flat
leather jewel-case on her pillow beside Paul. And soon she commenced a
madness of farewells--all restrained and gentle for fear he should awake.
"My love, my love," she wailed between her kisses, "God keep you
safe--though He may never bring you back to me."
Then with a wild, strangled sob, she fled from the room.
CHAPTER XX
A hush was over everything when Paul first awoke--the hush of a hot, drowsy
noontide.
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