"Yes," I answered—though both of us spoke in whispers.
"I'm sorry to have been unkind," she said, withdrawing one of her hands and laying it on the back of my own—for Death is a great leveler of conventions.
The pathetic resignation in her voice brought hot tears to my eyes and, raising her fingers to my lips, I murmured:
"You're the sweetest angel I ever knew!"
For a long time we sat in the gathering darkness, holding to each other as two little children lost in the night. Finally I heard her whisper:
"Why am I not afraid—now?"
I turned and looked down at her; down into those eyes gazing back at me through a magnetizing moisture that drew my face nearer, nearer.
"Because," I said, "we've found something which outlives death!"
"Yes," she whispered, as her arms moved sweetly up around my neck—but the next instant they held me off, as she gasped: "Look! Look! The end is here!"