She laughed weakly. "Oh, Bert! You'll never improve, will you?"
"I can't," he brought out, with anguish. "I can't say pretty names. You're—so much more to me than dear. You're ... life itself!—my life! How can you be going to die?"
"Well, I feel ... most strange: as if I were coming away out of my body. I feel as if I could float. I want—you know—'to swim in lucid shallows, just eluding water-lily leaves.' ... The lilies are planted already. I keep wishing to be there, in the house; don't you?"
He could not follow this. "What house?" he asked her gently.
"Lone Ash. I should like to die there."
"You shall live there, Millie, please God!"
The words were a passionate appeal. Stooping, he gathered her to him, drawing her close, close against his heart, and laid his lips on hers. She answered his kiss, and then he felt her limbs relax. A blessed unconsciousness had come to relieve her pain.
Far along the road he heard the distant beat, beat, of approaching horse's feet.
* * * * * * * *
The serious accident to Miss Lutwyche gave Brenda the best reason in the world for cancelling wedding invitations.