“Oh, I knew you at once! There you shone out of the dim old room, as you had shone out of my black spaces. Your brow of radiance, your hair of fire! And your eyes—oh, blue, blue! Ellinor, you remember! I kissed you—my star! I held you and I kissed you.” The whisper now sank so low that she could hardly follow his words. A tremor had come into the arms that encompassed her. She felt as if a weakness, a dimness, were gathered upon him. “That night we opened the door and stood upon the threshold of the golden chamber. Why did we not go in? I do not know. Shall we not go in now? Ellinor, bride, give me again your lips, those lips that have haunted me waking and sleeping. Ellinor!” The last articulate words broke way almost upon a moan. He was breathing with panting effort. Suddenly he swayed, and she upheld him. Then he failed altogether, and she guided his fall—strong as she was, it was all she could do—till he lay stretched his length on the floor at her feet. Then she knelt beside him. His eyes looked up at her, pleading through the mists that were thickening over them. His lips, without sound, formed the prayer for her kiss. She knew not what despair was coming upon her. The apprehensions, vague yet so evil, that had yet been gathering thick about her all this strange acute hour, seemed now massed into one terrible tangible shape: in a second she must look upon its awful face. Well, what she could still give her beloved in life—that she would give from her breaking woman’s heart. And bending down, she laid her lips upon his. She thought it was the kiss of death. He smiled faintly, his eyelids fell. Like a child, he turned his head upon his arm and drew a long deep sigh as of the peace of repose after unutterable restlessness. She crouched down close to watch for the moment of the passing of all she loved. Once before she had seen another strong man’s life go from him as she knelt by his side; had known the very instant between the last heaving of his breast and its eternal stillness. And she thought now, that when that minute should again strike for her and she should wait for the sound of the breath that was never to come, her own life would be driven out under the pressure of that slow agony! So prepared was she for horror that she could hardly credit her own senses when presently it was borne in upon her that his respiration was becoming gradually deeper and more assured, that his pallid face was assuming a more natural look. She slid her trembling fingers upon his hand; it was warm and humanly relaxed. He was alive! He was asleep! The Spectre of Terror had fled from before her without unveiling its countenance. She had thought their kiss was the kiss of death, and behold, it was as the kiss of Life!