Soft as her hands fell, "I always shall think of you," she told him.
He besought her "Tell me!"
She whispered "Always!"
In a man's voice, out of a sudden and terrible review of his condition—possessed of nothing, chained to do nothing—and of her high estate: "Others will love you!" he cried.
As they would nestle there and there abide, her fingers moved within his hands.
In a man's voice, full man as full love makes, "Tell me," he besought her.
Scarcely perceptible her answer came; scarcely her lips moved for it—faint as the timid breeze ventured to the innermost thicket, soft as the hushed caress of summer rain along the hedgerows, "I shall always love you," she breathed.
Shortly he left her.