This was what poets had sung since time began; this was what the world had exchanged for Paradise!
Juliet! Juliet!
And if he was the "god of her idolatry," she was to him the "dearest morsel of earth."
He bent and whispered the name to her with a kiss.
And as he did so, a step, swift, bold, masterful, sounded in the passage above; the step of one with a right to be there.
Vincent, startled, sat listening; but Laila was on her feet in a second, with a reckless laugh.
"Father Laurence!" she cried. "Well! let him come. I'm not afraid! For he loved her. He must remember!"
So, as a dim figure showed, half seen, in the archway, she stood like a queen, her hand raised, her head thrown back; a sight never to be forgotten.
"There is no use in being angry, guardian," she called, in her full-throated voice. "It is too late for that. Remember--" She paused, gave a slight scream, and flung herself before Vincent.
There was a flash, a second scream, and then the arches rang with the echoes of a pistol-shot.