"Were she to kiss me now," he tells himself, "out of the depths of her heart, when the cold, passionless morning came to her she would regret it," and so he refrains from the embrace he would have sold his best to gain.
"I wish there might be death, soon," says Portia, and then she looks upon the awakening land so full of beauty, and growing light, and promise of all good.
The great sun, climbing up aloft, strikes upon her gaze, and the swaying trees, and the music of all things that live comes to her ears, and with them all comes, too, a terrible sense of desolation that overwhelms her.
"How can the world be so fair?" she says. "How can it smile, and grow, and brighten into life, when there is no life—for—"
She breaks down.
"For us?" he finishes for her, slowly; and there is great joy in the blending of her name with his. "Yes, I know; it is what you would have said. Forgive me, my best beloved; but I am glad in the thought that we grieve together."
His tone is full of sadness; a sadness without hope. They are standing hand in hand, and are looking into each other's eyes.
"It is for the last time," she says, in a broken voice.
And he says:
"Yes, for the very last time."