Guy did not speak till he could quite control himself; then he said firmly, but with a sob in his voice still,
"Yet I have killed you!"
"No, no," Constance answered, quickly; "indeed it is not so. A cold which attacked my chest caused this illness; but they say my lungs were affected long ago, and that I could hardly have lived many months. You must think of that, dear; and perhaps it is much better that it should be so. Life is very hard and difficult, I think, and I should never have been strong enough to bear my part in it well."
Guy shook his head sadly, as if only half convinced, though he knew she would not have said an untrue word even to save him from suffering.
"If you could only stay with me—if I could only keep you!" he cried out, and threw his arms round her, as if their strong clasp would hold her back one step on the road along which the messengers of God had been beckoning her for many days past.
"Hush!" Constance whispered; "you must be patient. Yet I like to think that you will not forget me soon. Now listen—" and she held up her finger with something of the "old imperial air." "I have something to ask of you. Will you not like to do it for my sake, even if it is hard?"
He did not answer; but she understood the pressure of his hand, and went on.
"I have been fearing so much that something terrible will happen between you and Cyril. He is so passionate and willful, he will not listen to me, though he loves me dearly, and though I have tried every entreaty I could think of. (She grew paler than ever, and shuddered visibly.) And you are not patient, Guy, dear; but you would be this time, would you not? Only think how it would grieve me if—"
The deep hollow cough that she had tried hard to keep back would break in here.
"You can not doubt me," Guy replied, caressing her fondly: "I promise that nothing he can say or do shall tempt me to defend myself by word or deed. How could I, even if you had not asked this? Has he not bitter cause? Ask me something harder, my own!"