Then he came and put his hand on mine, and said:
“Yes, Martin; young and old, we are all alike. They’re not worth quarreling for. But Nature’s too strong.”
“May I see her before I go?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“Alone?”
“Yes,” he said once more. “Go now—if she can see you.”
I went up and cautiously opened the door. The signorina was lying on the bed, with a shawl over her. She seemed to be asleep. I bent over her and kissed her. She opened her eyes, and said, in a weary voice:
“Is it you, Jack?”
“Yes, my darling,” said I. “I am going. I must go or die; and whether I go or die, I must be alone.”
She was strangely quiet—even apathetic. As I knelt down by her she raised herself, and took my face between her hands and kissed me—not passionately, but tenderly.