He lifted her hand from the table.
“For his sake,” he said very softly, “Call up your courage now—”
She stared with an unchanged look.
“Is he dead?” she said. “Perseus?”
“God help thee,” he answered, and his voice broke a little. “We are all undone—”
“But—Perseus?” she repeated. “Is he dead? Can’t he see me? Won’t he hear me when I tell him—why—what was I going to tell him? When I came home I sang for joy, oh, my love, my love!” She dropped her head, sobbing heavily. “Come and comfort me,” she cried between her bitter tears. “I only want you—ah, I would have told him—dead—what is it to be dead?”
She looked up.
Jerome Caryl had left her; she rose and crept slowly to where her brother lay with Jerome’s handkerchief across his face.
“Perseus—” she sobbed, “I was so happy—dear—I wanted to make you happy, too—he loves me! Perseus—do you hear?”
She bent lower.