“You mean death?” As she said it, tears welled in Miriamne’s eyes.
“Weep not, my child, death is beautiful, at least to me.”
“Oh, good man—father. I do not yet know how to think about you or these things that you say. What made you so different from the people I know?”
“A woman, a lovely woman.”
“Your mother?”
“Not as you think.”
“Oh, then pardon my curiosity. You had some love?”
“Thou hast said it.”
“Why did you not wed her? Did she die?”