"No, no! away! I cannot die in peace and think of you—in danger. I want to pray. Leave me, now, Paul. Dear Martin! Martin, my love—is it you?"
Her mind was wandering, and she saw her lover of old days in the man whose hand she clasped so frantically; and Paul, although out in the passage he could hear the sound of hurrying feet, could not tear himself away from her dying embrace. A faint, curious smile was parting her pallid lips, and her dim eyes seemed suddenly to have caught a dim reflection of the light to come.
"Martin! Martin! there is a mist everywhere—but I see you, dear love! Wait for me! Let us go hand in hand—hand in hand through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Oh, my love! it has been a weary, weary while. Hold me tighter, Martin! I cannot feel your hand! Ah! at last, at last! Farewell sorrow, and grief, and suffering! We are together once more—a new world—behind the clouds! I am happy."
CHAPTER XXXV
"FROM OUT LIFE'S THUNDERS TO A STRANGE, SWEET WORLD"
She was dead, and, after all, her end had been crowned with peace. She did not hear the door thrown roughly open, the swelling of angry voices, or the fast-approaching tramp of many feet. Nor did Paul heed any of these signs of coming danger; he had folded his strong arms around her, and his lips, pressed close to her, seemed to draw the last quivering breath from her frail body. It was only when her head sunk back, and he knew that she was dead, that he laid her reverently down and turned around.
The room was full of strange flashes of light and grotesque shadows falling upon the white faces of half a dozen monks. Standing in front of them was Father Andrew, and by his side was an old man, tall and straight, with snow-white beard and hair. He stood in full glare of a torch held by one of the monks behind him, and his face seemed like the face of a corpse, save for the steady, malignant light in his jet-black eyes. As Paul turned round, with his features suddenly visible in a stream of lurid light, he raised his arm and pointed a long, skinny finger steadily towards him.
"The son of the devil!" he cried, his deep, tremulous voice awakening strange echoes in the high vaulted chamber. "Welcome! Welcome! Thrice welcome!"
Paul straightened himself, and reverently laid the little white hand which he had been clasping across the coverlet. "She is dead!" he said solemnly. "What I came here to learn from you, I have learnt from her. Let me go!"