He struck the taper. "This is against forest rules," he said, "but for this once I shall break them."
He held the fresh green of the tiny birch twig in the flame. The young life dried within leaf and leaf-bud. The living green hung limp, blackened.
"Such was my life when I was young," he said, calmly enough; but, suddenly, a dull red flush showed beneath the clear brown of his cheeks. It mounted to temples, forehead, even to the roots of his hair where a fine sweat broke out.
And, seeing that, I dared—I could bear the sight no longer:—I took my hand from the pommel and laid it over the poor blackened twig, crushing it in my palm; hiding it from his sight, from mine.
I believe he understood the entire significance of my action; for he turned his hand instantly, palm upwards, and caught mine in it. The limp bit of foliage lay between the two palms. He looked at me steadily; not a flickering of the eye, not a twitch of the eyelid.
"I lost the woman I loved—how I lost her I need not say. That's all. But I have answered you."
"Yes—but—"
"What? Speak out—you must," he said hastily, with the first outward sign of nervous irritation.
"Is—is she dead?"
I felt my whole future was at stake when I put that question.