“And you?” he said, wildly.
She took his hand and laid it slowly upon her bosom, to press it there, so that he could fool the heavy dull throb of her heart.
For a moment even then he did not realise what she meant. Then, with a wild cry he leaped to his feet, for his hand was wet with the warm blood which welled from a terrible wound.
“You are hurt?” he cried.
“To the death, Humphrey. Oh, my love, my love! Take me in your arms once more and hold me to your heart. Tell me that you will remember me, and then lay me here, upon this old stone, with your kiss wet upon my lips. Death will be easy then!”
“Death easy! I leave you! If you must die it shall be together!” he panted, as he once more enfolded her in his arms.
“This is madness,” she whispered, as she struggled feebly in his embrace. “Go, for pity’s sake—go!”
“My place is here!” he said in a low fierce voice, as he took up the sword she had let fall upon the pavement. “We shall not die alone. Whose cowardly hand inflicted that wound?”
“You need not ask,” she said feebly. “He missed before—the blow was true this time.”
“The fiend! The devil!” groaned Humphrey, as the sword quivered in his grasp. “Well, we shall want a slave to open the gates of death. His shall be the task!”