He whispered again, "Do you still love me?" The words were quite inaudible.
Again she said, "Yes."
Again a movement of the lips, but no sound.
He looked at her with radiant questioning eyes.
Again she murmured, "Yes."
It had to be like that. He had always known that this moment had to come. Had he not foreseen it in some forgotten dream?
A great trembling laid hold on Michael, and then a stillness of exceeding joy.
In the silence the cathedral bells chimed out suddenly for early service. The sound of the bells came faintly to him as across wide water, the river of death widening as it nears the sea. It was all part of his dream. The bells of Venice were rejoicing with him, in this his blessed hour.
He was freed at last, free as he had never been, free as the seagull seen through the bars that could no longer keep him back. Useless bars, why had he let them hold him so long? He was out and away, sailing over the sheening water in a boat with an orange sail; in a boat like a butterfly with spread wings; sailing away, past the floating islands, past that pale beautiful grief of sea lavender—he laughed to see it shine so beautiful—sailing away into a pearly morning, under a luminous sky.
The prison was far away now. Left behind. There was a great knocking at its gates, hurried steps upon the stairs, and a voice crying urgently through the bars.