"You are rebelling against God," she said, between agitated breaths. "You must go on—your work is not finished; but the prospects are so splendid——"
"What is that to me?" he answered, in bitter despair. "I am a poor weak creature—I can do nothing—it was always you, your hope, your faith—I am no better than a thing of nought; in taking you God mocks me——"
"No—no," cried Mary, with a desperate strength. "You are going on—you will conquer—do not make it hard for me to die——"
She sank on to her pillows, coughing a little.
"I have prayed God not to let you despair—I have asked Him to comfort you——"
"There is no more comfort for me," he answered. "I want you—nothing but you on earth or in heaven——"
Mary turned her face towards him; the dark auburn hair, beneath the fine veiling of lace, hung over the edge of the tumbled pillow and touched his hand.
"Oh, my husband," she said faintly; "I have loved you with a passion that cannot end with death. You cannot—ever be alone again—I shall be there——"
Her voice sank and died; she made an effort to lean towards him. He caught her to his bosom and kissed her cold forehead with lips as cold.
"Go on," she stammered, "do not give up—the goal is nearly won——"