"No, no. As God is just, it could not be. Yet, oh, my love, be happy in the days I may not share, with her whose present lips Usurp the rights of my lost sovranty. I would not have thee think--save now and then As in a dream that is not all a dream-- On her whose love was sunshine for an hour, Then died or e'er its beams could blast thy life. Be happy and forget what might have been, Forget my dear embraces in her arms, My lips in hers, my children in her sons, While I-- Dear love, it is not hard to die Now once the path is plain. See, I accept And step as gladly to the sacrifice As any maid upon her bridal morn-- One little stroke--one tiny touch of pain And I am quit of pain for evermore. It needs no bravery. Wert thou here to see, I would not have thee weep, but look--one stroke, And thus--" What was that shriek far back there in the house? What was that at sight of which the audience rose white and aghast from their seats? What was it that made Sebastian as he entered rush suddenly forward and fall with awful cry before Francesca's body? What was that trickling down the folds of her white dress? Blood? Yes, blood! In an instant I put my hand upon the cushion of the box, vaulted down to the stage and was kneeling beside my dying love. But as the clamorous bell rang down the curtain, I heard above its noise a light and silvery laugh, and looking up saw in the box next to mine the coal-black devilish eyes of the yellow woman. Then the curtain fell. CHAPTER IX. TELLS HOW TWO VOICES LED ME TO BOARD A SCHOONER; AND WHAT BEFELL THERE. She died without speech. Only, as I knelt beside her and strove to staunch that cruel stream of blood, her beautiful eyes sought mine in utter love and, as the last agony shook her frame, strove to rend the filmy veil of death and speak to me still. Then, with one long, contented sigh, my love was dead. It was scarcely a minute before all was over. I pressed one last kiss upon the yet warm lips, tenderly drew her white mantle across the pallid face, and staggered from the theatre. I had not raved or protested as I had done that same afternoon. Fate had no power to make me feel now; the point of anguish was passed, and in its place succeeded a numb stupidity more terrible by far, though far more blessed. My love was dead. Then I was dead for any sensibility to suffering that I possessed. Hatless and cloak-less I stepped out into the freezing night air, and regardless of the curious looks of the passing throng I turned and walked rapidly westward up the Strand. There was a large and eager crowd outside the Coliseum, for already the news was spreading; but something in my face made them give room, and I passed through them as a man in a trance.