She thought of the man who had feasted so freely on her lips that night in the moonlit garden in Grand Canary. She wanted no man's kisses but his, no man's love but his, and his race and colour barred him out from her for ever.
"Kiss me if you like, Bob, for old time's sake. But——"
She broke off, listening to the noises from outside, the heavy, regular thud on the iron-bound door, that had now set the stone walls trembling.
"Now, I shall die a young maid instead of an old one, that's all," she said suddenly.
Cameron watched her, pain on his face; this girl who could face death with a courage that equalled his own.
Then he kissed her tenderly.
"Good-bye, Pansy, little pal," he said hoarsely.
Afterwards there was silence in the room. Between the heavy blows flies droned. Droned as if all were well with the world. As if nothing untoward were happening.
Pansy listened to them, a strained look on her face.
So they would go on droning after she was dead.