"Before my life was broken, there was one whom I loved. Every hope, every dream, every joy, every sorrow that I had came from this love. It was her death which broke my life--not only for the piteous loss and all it meant to me, but because death came with tragic heedlessness--for she was young, and strong, and beautiful. And before she died, she said we should meet again. I was never, and now am far the less worthy of her; and yet--and yet--oh, if only that great, beautiful love were all I had to doubt or fear, I should have no doubt or fear! But no--no--we shall never meet. How can we? Before to-morrow I shall be like that crushed dog, and not be: just as if I had never been!" The blood rose, and sobs and tears made further words inaudible. But after a little the Body spoke again. "But you, O Will, you and the Soul both resemble me. We are as flowers of the same colour, as clay of the same mould. It may be you shall meet her. Tell her that my last thought was of her: take her all my dreams and hopes--and say--and say--say----" But here the Body sat up in the bed, ash-white, with parted lips and straining eyes. "What? Quick, quick, dear Body--say?----" "Say that I loved best that in her which I loved best in myself--the Soul. Tell her I have never wholly despaired. Ah, if only the Soul were here, I would not even now despair! Tell her I leave all to the Soul--and--and--love shall triumph----" There was a rush of blood, a gurgling cry, and the Body sank back lifeless. In the very moment of death the eyes lightened with a wonderful radiance--it was as though the evening stars suddenly came through the dark. The Will looked to see whence it came. The Soul stood beside him, white, wonderful, radiant. "I have come," he said. "For me?" said the Will, shaking as with an ague, yet in bitter irony. "Yes, for you, and for the Body too." "For the Body?--see, he is already clay. What word have you to say to _that_, to _me_ who likewise am already perishing? "This--do you remember what so brief a while ago we three as one wrote--wrote with my spirit, through your mind, and the Body's hand--these words: _Love is more great than we conceive, and Death is the keeper of unknown redemptions?_" "Yes--yes--O Soul! I remember, I remember." "It was true there: it is true here. Have I not ever told you that Love would save?" With that the Soul moved over to the bedside, and kissed the Body. "Farewell, fallen leaf. But the tree lives--and beyond the tree is the wind, the breath of the eternal." "Look," he added, "our comrade is still asleep, though now no mortal skill could nourish the hidden spark"; and with that he stooped and kissed again the silent lips and the still brow and the pulseless heart, and suddenly a breath, an essence, came from the body, in form like itself, a phantom, yet endued with a motion of life.