“Yes, Kate!” she echoed, nodding her head with that quick, nervous, spasmodic gesture common to her.
“And why have you done this thing? Why have you placed yourself en scene like a third-rate opera dancer?”
She raised her fading eyes to his face, pleadingly, murmuring—
“Your wishes—the reprieve!”
“Well, what of that? Was there no one to bring it but yourself?”
Too feeble to enter upon the long explanation required, she only shook her head, murmuring at intervals—
“Forgive—forgive—I could not see him die. Patience, patience—indeed, I will not trouble you, love,—I will go away again, far away! Maybe God will let me die!”
The last words were breathed forth in a long, deep sigh, and she sank away again into insensibility.
Poor Jack, kneeling by her side, bathed her hand with the water he had brought, and with his tears that fell like rain.
Major Clifton laid her head down upon the green sward, and rising to his feet, addressed the officer in command, saying—