"You're a beastly little flirt," he went on, angrily, gripping her hand till she with difficulty refrained from crying out with pain, "a heartless, despicable little flirt and I despise you from the bottom of my soul—but, O God! I can't help loving you. No other woman has ever been to me what you were—and you—threw—me—over," he went on, slowly, with a hard, cruel expression, "for Greene. Greene! the miserable, worthless sot! Well, you made one mistake, my lady, didn't you? ... But don't turn away, Julia!" he went on, imploringly, "don't turn away from me! I can't stand it.... Your hand is cold—you don't care—O my God! you don't care!" His voice rose almost to a wail. "Julia!" he cried. "Julia! my darling, my darling!—say it's a mistake! You're not what you pretend to be—you can't be!—Julia!"
He sank back exhausted and his face relaxed. A look of intense relief overspread his features and his lips formed a smile of great beauty and tenderness.
"Julia!" he murmured softly. Then he died.
Amy sat quite unmoved and looked at the rigid figure. She showed no particular emotion; yet the peace which made the dead face so beautiful was lacking in the living. Some minutes elapsed. She rose at last and stood for a moment, looking down. About that lifeless thing on the bed had clustered all her poor, starved life had held of love and romance. She bent slowly toward it; then straightened, a faint red colour in her sallow cheek.
"No!" she said, almost proudly.
She rang the bell.
"The General has just died," she said in level, unemotional accents. "It was very sudden. It was impossible to call you. I am sorry."
The big-hearted nurse looked at her with hearty repulsion and dislike and burst into a flood of tears. There seemed no particular reason for waiting further; Amy moved mechanically to the door and down the steps; and so passed quietly into the bitter night.
CHAPTER XVI
THE HOCKEY MATCH