The Bishop got up from his knees beside Michael, and motioned Fay to take his place. She went timidly to the low couch and knelt down by it.
"Speak to him," said the Bishop sternly.
"Michael!" she said.
He knew her. All other voices had gone from him, but hers he knew. All other faces had faded from him, but hers he knew. He looked full at her. Love stronger than death shone in his eyes.
"Fay," he said in an awed voice—"at last."
She had come to release him, after the Duke's death, as he knew she would.
She leaned her white cheek a moment against his in speechless self-abasement.
He whispered to her.
"Have I served you?"
She whispered back, "Yes."