No one spoke or stirred. They felt that an awful and blessed spirit overshadowed the lovers, and were hushed, as if in the sanctuary of God.
Suddenly again she raised her head from his bosom, and in a tone, in which her old queenliness mingled strangely with the saddest tenderness,—
‘All of you go away now; I must talk to my husband alone.’
They went, leading out the squire, who cast puzzled glances toward the pair, and murmured to himself that ‘she was sure to get well now Smith was come: everything went right when he was in the way.’
So they were left alone.
‘I do not look so very ugly, my darling, do I? Not so very ugly? though they have cut off all my poor hair, and I told them so often not! But I kept a lock for you;’ and feebly she drew from under the pillow a long auburn tress, and tried to wreathe it round his neck, but could not, and sunk back.
Poor fellow! he could bear no more. He hid his face in his hands, and burst into a long low weeping.
‘I am very thirsty, darling; reach me—No, I will drink no more, except from your dear lips.’
He lifted up his head, and breathed his whole soul upon her lips; his tears fell on her closed eyelids.
‘Weeping? No.—You must not cry. See how comfortable I am. They are all so kind—soft bed, cool room, fresh air, sweet drinks, sweet scents. Oh, so different from that room!’