"My life, my saint," he murmured. "Nay! lift your dear face up to me again! let me take away as a last memory the radiant vision of your eyes ... your hair ... your lips..."
His arms tightened round her, her head fell back as if in a swoon, she closed her eyes and her soul went out to him in the ecstasy of that first kiss.
"Ah! it is a lovely dream I dreamt," he whispered, "and 'tis meet that the awakening shall be only in death!"
He tried to let her go but she clung to him passionately, her arms round him, in the agony of her despair.
"Take me with you," she sobbed, half fainting. "I cannot bear it ... I cannot..."
Gently he took hold of both her hands, and again and again pressed them to his lips.
"Farewell, sweet dream!" he said. "There! dry those lovely tears! ... If you only knew how happy I am, you would not mourn for me.... I have spun the one thread in life which was worth the spinning, the thread which binds me to your memory.... Farewell!"
The Sergeant stepped forward again. It was time to go.
"Are you ready, sir?" he asked kindly.
"Quite ready, Sergeant."