"She drew her hand away, and stepped back sharply. Her voice rang out, fierce with hate. 'He was a child. The woman took him! Tell me, why?...'
"'The woman was his wife' I felt obliged to say.
"'Enough!' she cried. Her form became rigid, as if every muscle were stretched to the point of breaking. Suddenly she relaxed, and turned to me for the last time.
"'He is happy?' she asked quietly.
"I nodded—for the moment I couldn't speak.
"'She loves him?'
"Again I nodded.
"Her voice caught at the next question, but rallied bravely. 'He loves her?—you are sure?...'
"I cursed myself for having come—but there could be no kindness in sustaining the delusion. 'I am certain' I answered 'He will never tire of her. He loves her better than all the world'
"She gave a quick cry, like one who has received a mortal wound. Before I could recognize the significance of the moment, she had moved swiftly into the open. For an instant she stood with arms outstretched; but not until the dagger flashed above her breast did I see what she held in her hand. When I reached her she'd fallen in the rank grass, and life had gone.