“What aileth thee?” she said, tenderly. “Mournest thou for me?”
“I must not delude thee, sweet Inez,” answered Hildebrand, with a convulsive effort. “Thou canst not live long.”
“That know I well,” replied Inez. “Yet weep not! Give me thy hand awhile!”
Hildebrand, stepping a pace nearer the berth, put forth his hand, and placed it in hers. As he did so, she raised it to her parched lips.
“I have loved thee dearly,” she said.
Hildebrand made no answer; but the tears, which had already mounted to his eyes, poured down his cheeks, and gave her a response from his heart.
“And, look you!” she continued: “’tis more joy to me to die thus, with thy love, than ’t were to have lived to fourscore, and not have known thee.”
“Would thou couldst live to be mine!” exclaimed Hildebrand—and, at the moment, he spoke from his heart.
“I know thee well!” resumed Inez. “Thy nature is wondrous pitiful, and full of gentleness; and when I am agone, thou wilt accuse thyself, mayhap, that I died through thee.”
“’Twill be my one thought,” cried Hildebrand; “but to show how I repent me, I will be true to thy memory, and hold myself single till death.”