Some unintelligible words were broken on the invalid's lips.
"Do you want anything?"
"No. I—I—"
Here the man's feeble speech broke off, and his head moved restlessly on the pillow. Lady Rose leaned over him. Her soul was craving one word of recognition.
"Try and say if you know me," she whispered, too eager for any thought of the fear that had possessed her.
"Oh, yes, I know. Only the name. I never mention that—never!"
"But why? Is it hateful to you?"
"Hateful! No, no! Don't you know that?"
Rose could not resist the temptation, but touched his forehead with her hand. A ghostly little smile crept over his mouth, which was half-concealed by a wave of the silken beard that had drifted across it. She longed to know if it was a smile or a tremor of light from the shaded lamp, and softly smoothed the beard away. As she did so, a faint kiss was left upon her hand. She drew it back with a sob of delight so exquisite that it made her feel faint.
"He knows me. With his poor, feeble breath he has kissed my hand." This thought was like rare old wine to the girl; she felt its glow in every pulse of her being. With that precious kiss on her palm, she drew back among the curtains, and gathered it into her heart, pressing her lips where his had been, as children hide away to eat their stolen fruit.