“No—indeed—not that—I never thought of such a thing. I think it a crime. We are bid to endure the burden of our day. I shall go on weaving my web and painting my picture till, soon or late, God says, ‘Hold,’ and then I shall die gladly, yes, very gladly, because the real beginning is at hand.”
“Oh! that I had your perfect faith,” groaned Morris.
“Then, if you love me, learn it from me. Should I, of all people, tell you what is not true? It is the truth—I swear it is the truth. I am not deceived. I know, I know, I know.”
“What do you know—about us?”
“That, when it is over, we shall meet again where there is no marriage, where there is nothing gross, where love perfect and immortal reigns and passion is forgotten. There that we love each other will make no heart sore, not even hers whom here, perhaps, we have wronged; there will be no jealousies, since each and all, themselves happy in their own way and according to their own destinies, will rejoice in the happiness of others. There, too, our life will be one life, our work one work, our thought one thought—nothing more shall separate us at all in that place where there is no change or shadow of turning. Therefore,” and she clasped her hands and looked upwards, her face shining like a saint’s, although the tears ran down it, “therefore, ‘O Death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?’”
“You talk like one upon the verge of it, who hears the beating of Death’s wings. It frightens me, Stella.”
“I know nothing of that; it may be to-night, or fifty years hence—we are always on the verge, and those Wings I have heard from childhood. Fifty, even seventy years, and after them—all the Infinite; one tiny grain of sand compared to the bed of the great sea, that sea from which it was washed at dawn to be blown back again at nightfall.”
“But the dead forget—in that land all things are forgotten. Were you to die I should call to you and you would not answer; and when my time came, I might look for you and never find you.”
“How dare you say it? If I die, search, and you shall see. No; do not search, wait. At your death I will be with you.”
“Whatever happens in life or death—here or hereafter—swear that you will not forget me, and that you will love me only. Swear it, Stella.”