After all, whether she loved him or not, there would still be much in life for her.
Time would cure her sorrow. There would be many claims upon her, and she would sooner or later resume her normal activities.
Slowly he disengaged his hand from her clinging fingers. In his other hand he still held his pocket-knife. To open a vein in his wrist would take but a moment. His life would well away, there on the tiles.
She would think he was asleep; and then she herself would drift away into unconsciousness which would be broken only after the door was opened in the morning.
Bah! His mind cleared in a flash. What a fool he was! Need he doubt her for an instant? Need he question what she would do when she found that he was dead? And she would know it quickly. This living pulsing girl beside him loved him! She had told him in every way except in words. In life and in death they belonged to each other.
They were one forever. They still lived, and while they lived they must hope. And if hope failed, there still would be love.
His pent-up emotions broke restraint. With unthinking swiftness, he threw his arm over her and drew her tight to him. His lips found hers in a long kiss—clung in ecstasy for another, and another.
Her arms went about his neck. He felt as though her soul had passed from her lips to his own.
“My lover!” she whispered. “I think I have always cared.”
“O, Girl, Girl!” He could utter no more.