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.
Pages:
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368