“You cannot hear me, Clarice,” at last he murmured, “at least with mortal ears; you cannot see me; but listen, my darling, I loved you better than I loved my life; I kiss your dead lips, sweet, and I swear that I will never kiss another woman. You are gone now where all secrets are known; you know now how I loved you; and when I go to the eternal land you will meet me. No love shall replace you. I will be true to you, dead, as I was while you were living. Do you hear me, Clarice?”
All the time he poured out this passionate torrent of words Sir Ronald stood with bowed head and folded arms.
“I kiss those white lips again, love, and on them I swear to know no rest, no pleasure, no repose until I have brought the man who murdered you to answer for his crime; I swear to devote all the talent and wealth God has given me to that purpose; I will give my days and nights—my thoughts, time, energies—all for it; and when I have avenged you I will come and kneel down by your grave and tell you so.”
Then he looked up at Sir Ronald.
“What are you going to do?” he asked. “What steps shall you take?”
“Everything possible has been done. I know no more that I can do.”
Kenelm Eyrle looked up at him.
“Do you mean to sleep, to eat, to rest, while the man who did that dastardly deed lives?”
His eyes flashed fire.
“I shall do my best,” Sir Ronald said, with a heavy groan. “God help us all. It has been a dreadful mistake, Kenelm. You loved her best.”