Or superstitious awe, she slightly turned,
But gazing still, over his features came
The semblance of a smile, and his arms moved,
Clasping in rosy dreams some form beloved,
And his lips moved, and though no sound she heard,
She thought they shaped her name, and a red flame
Leaped to her brain, and through her vision passed;
A raging demon seized and filled her frame,
And like a lightning flash leaped forth her knife:
That cold keen heart-pang is his last of life;