Within the room all was dim.
An arm-chair piled with many pillows stood facing the open window, and as her eyes became accustomed to the twilight Chris discerned the outline of a figure that reclined in it. At the same moment there came to her the sound of a voice, husky and difficult, yet how strangely familiar.
"Ah, but the tide—the tide!" it said. "Can we not hold it back my dear Max—a little longer? It rushes up so fast—so fast. Soon all will be gone. Only a picture in the sand, you say? But no, it is more than that. See, it is greater than all the things in the world—greater than the Sphinx, ma petite—greater than your Cleopatra's Needle. Ah, you laugh, because you have no need of it. But yet it is your own, and so will it always be. Do you hear the tide among the rocks, mignonne? It is there that my heart is buried. Come with me, and I will show you the place—if the tide permit."
There came a gasp, and silence.
Some one guided Chris gently forward till she stood behind the great chair at the window, looking down upon the black head that rested against the pillow. Her fear had passed, but yet she drew no nearer. Instinctively she stood and waited.
Suddenly, and more clearly, the voice spoke again.
"We must climb, chérie, we must climb. We dare not stay upon these rocks. It is steep for your little feet, but to remain here is to die. Alors, we will say our prayers and go. Le bon Dieu will keep us safe. And we have been—pals—since so long."
A softer note in the last sentence made her aware that he was smiling.
She bent a little above him. But still she waited.
"Comment?" he said. "You are afraid? But why, my bird of Paradise? Is it life that you fear—this little life of shadows? Or Death—which is the gateway to our great Reality? Listen, mignonne! I am a prisoner while I live, but the gate opens to me. Soon I shall be free. No, no! I cannot take you with me. I would not, chérie, if I could. Your place is here. But remember—always—that I love you still. And my love is stronger than death. It stretches into eternity."
He paused, and made a slight gesture of refusal. "Ah, no!" he said. "I do not want a priest. My sins are all known—and pardoned. I only want—one thing now."