Now she is dead: "no doubting more." . . . But somehow he will get his good of it! He will keep alive--and long, she shall see; but not like the others; there shall be no turning aside, and he will begin at once as he means to end. Those others may go on with the world--get gold, get women, betray their wives and their husbands and their friends. "There are two who decline, a woman and I, And enjoy our death in the darkness here."[301:1] And he recurs to her cherished, her dwelt-on, adored defects. Only _he_ could have loved her so, in despite of them. The most complex mood of lovers, this! Humility and pride are mingled; one knows not which is which--the pride of love, humility of self. Only so could the loved one have declined to our level; only so could our love acquire value in those eyes--and yet "the others" did not love so, the defects _were_ valid: there should be some recognition: "_I_ loved, _quand meme_!" Why, it was almost the defects that brought the thrill: "I liked that way you had with your curls, Wound to a ball in a net behind: Your cheek was chaste as a quaker-girl's, And your mouth--there was never, to my mind, Such a funny mouth, for it would not shut; And the dented chin, too--what a chin! There were certain ways when you spoke, some words That you know you never could pronounce: You were thin, however; like a bird's Your hand seemed--some would say, the pounce Of a scaly-footed hawk--all but! The world was right when it called you thin. But I turn my back on the world: I take Your hand, and kneel, and lay to my lips. Bid me live, Edith!" --and she shall be queen indeed, shall have high observance, courtship made perfect. He seems to see her stand there-- "Warm too, and white too: would this wine Had washed all over that body of yours, Ere I drank it, and you down with it, thus!" . . . The wine of his life, that she would not take--but she shall take it now! He will "slake thirst at her presence" by pouring it away, by drinking it down with her, as long ago he yearned to do. Edith needs help in her grave and finds none near--wants warmth from his heart? He sends it--so. + + + + + Assuredly this is the meaning; yet none of the commentators says so. She was the man's whole life, and she has died. Then he dies too, that he may live. "There are two who decline, a woman and I, And enjoy our death in the darkness here." Yet even in this we have no sense of failure, of "giving-in": it is for intenser life that he dies, and she shall be his queen "while his soul endures."