"Yes, John."
"You are not afraid of—death?"
"No, not when you are holding me like this, John."
He still clasped her hands, and a sweet smile crept over her lips.
"Even now you are splendid," she said. "Oh, I would have you that way, my John!"
Again they stood up in the unsteady glow of the lanterns.
"What time is it?" she asked.
He drew out his watch, and as they both looked his blood ran cold.
"Twelve minutes," she murmured, and there was not a quiver in her voice. "Let us sit down, John—you on this box, and I on the floor, at your feet—like this."
He seated himself on the box, and Joanne nestled herself at his knees, her hands clasped in his.