I seized a candle which stood on the Communion table and lit it from the one in my lantern which had almost gone out.
Then I tried to take off my coat to wrap her in, but this she would not allow me to do. She was still unselfish Ruth, suffering herself rather than let another suffer. So I took the cloth that lay on the table, the doth which was marked with a cross. I wrapped her in that, and surely I committed no sacrilege in doing so. It was large and warm, and entirely covered her, all but her white feet that peeped out from under her shroud.
I took another look at her, a longing, loving look. Her old beauty was coming back; she was losing all fear as she realised my presence.
"Ruth," I said, "it is your Roger who asks you, may I kiss you?"
A faint smile came into her face, something like the smile I had seen in the olden days.
"Dare you kiss me in my shroud, Roger?" she said.
Even then she could not repress the quaint, quiet humour I had loved years before.
Dare I! I covered her face with kisses, and as I did so I forgot everything, forgot all I had done, forgot where I was. I only knew that I held Ruth in my arms, and that her lips met mine!
Then, in spite of her protests, I took off my coat and wrapped it around her little feet.
"What are you going to do with me, Roger?" she said.