‘My last gift—all I have left: yours by right. Do you hear me? Listen—understand. I am yours now—I am forsaken by all but you.’
He moved uneasily, sighed again. ‘Too late, too late: I lie dying here.’
She leaned down yet nearer; he felt her warm breath beat upon him—quick and short and eager. ‘If I die this night, and if thou die, I will love thee first.’
‘Ah!’ said he, ‘I know very well that you desire to love me now.’
‘How knowest thou, my love?’
‘By the way you lean to me, and by other things.’
She said, ‘You are well schooled in love.’
‘Not so well,’ he answered; ‘but I am well schooled in you, my Queen.’
‘Prove me, then—desire of me—ask—take. I shall never deny thee anything.’
Again he said, ‘Too late, too late. You cannot—and I lie dying. Yet, since the dead can do you no wrong, let me lie here at rest, that I may die loving you.’