His voice sounded in his own hearing very thin and brittle. The girl turned her gaze upon him swiftly, the soft smile deepening, the dream-light in her eyes burning brighter and more steady. She bent forward, placing over his wasted hand a hand firm and warm, strong yet gentle, its whiteness enhanced by the suggested tracery of blue veins beneath the silken skin, and by the rosy tips of her slender, subtle fingers.
"David!" she said.
He sighed and remembered. His brows knitted, then smoothed themselves out; for with memory came the realisation that, since he was there and she by his side, God was surely in his Heaven, all well with the world!
"How long…Sophia?"
"Five days, David."
"Where…?"
"At sea, David, on a Messageries boat for Marseilles. Dear …"
He closed his eyes in beatific content: "David … Dear …!"
"Can you listen?"
"Yes … sweetheart."