Two arms came lovingly about his neck, and the tiniest cooing laugh was smothered there. “What tickles you, you rogue?” “I do not know. It was either that or crying, and the laugh came first. Shall we not exchange talismans? My lord, will you give me your jack-boot to keep?” “So you will wear it in your bosom. In very truth, Isabel, I should have died but for it.” “I believe--I am sure. Yet it did not save you this.” Very pitifully her fingers fluttered over the scar on his temple. “Ah, love!” she sighed, “how could you leave me so?” For a minute she held him close, with little murmurs like a dove; then looked up fearfully: “The trees draw nearer. Is it not deadly still? Indeed you must be going.” “Well,” he said: “shall we begin to speak good-bye?” “O, no! the briefest parting. Must it not be so?” “’Tis for you to say.” “I say it then. Bonbec?” “Good-bye, lady!” “One moment. There was something--one last thing I had to say. What was it? It has slipped my mind.” “Consider on it, while I hold you.” “It will come in a minute----” “Or ten, or twenty.” “No; you must go. How prettily your hair grows from your forehead.” “Was that it?” “Wait! It is always on the tip of my tongue--yet it will not come.” “The basil-flower, perchance?” “No. But let that serve. Was it not a strange dream of ours?” “Not strange that I should come to you in dreams. It had been my practice, had you known. Shall I come again to-night? Sweetheart, do you call the basil by the name I told you?” “Yes, Bonbec.” “A tiny whisper, faith! I’ll whisper back. Isabel, we’ll make the pretty darling flower between us yet.” So they lingered out their parting, postponing and always postponing the dread moment that was to separate them--to what issue? By ways of bliss and pain they had reached this supreme crisis, whence, if they would, the blind ecstatic plunge. Now, aware in truth that he must delay his going no longer, the man closed fast his arms about their enamoured burden, and spoke his last words very low and impassioned: “Isabel--before I go--there is a thing to say. It is as a woman--do you realise it--that you lie here?” “I would be anything, so to lie here for ever.” “So to lie and dream? But dreams must wake to reality, when childhood ends, as with the dropping of the flower comes the fruit. Are you prepared?” “For what?” “For what’s to come?” “Tell me what is to come.” “God knows! Only, for what it cannot be, think of all you must forego--name, honour, luxury--an empire.” “I thought them all shadows. Are they the realities?” “Think, before you decide. The whole world against a sentiment.” “Is it only that, indeed, to you?” “Ah! to me! But I lose nothing and gain all.” “An empty gain, when I shall have lost my all.” “It is the gain of the deathless, child. What is the value of the mortal residue to that?” “So, after all, you think I cannot love like you?”