"No—please God——"
She smiled with a ghostly touch of her old mockery.
"You—you believe in God, Tristram. Do you care so much?"
"Yes—I care."
She lifted her little hand as though it was almost too heavy a burden for her weakness, and laid it on his bowed head.
"It doesn't matter what we say to each other now—we don't need to pretend. I'd hoped there would be no coming back, but now I'm glad. I love you, Tristram."
"I love you," he answered.
And therewith there came silence and peace into his tumult. The warring events of their lives poured into a deep and tranquil river flowing on irresistibly seawards. They knew now with the great certainty which comes in such moments that there was no end, no power in heaven or earth to blot out that simple confession and all that it must mean, now and in whatever hereafter awaited them. He could look into her face over which death had passed its hand, without fear, almost without pain. She too had ceased to suffer. Her hand caressed him softly.
"I knew you would come, Tristram."
"I had to—all the time I was coming to you."