"Farewell."
They remain for a few moments locked in each other's arms.
"Love," he says, at last, "won't you say farewell?"
Her lips part, her breath comes quickly, she tries to speak, but all sound dies in her throat.
"Cissy, Cissy, can't you speak? I am waiting. Is it so hard to say the word 'Farewell,' little friend?"
"Yes, yes," she stammers, "it is hard. Let me go, Jack—let me go! I—I will say it presently—presently—presently."
"I am in no great hurry to hear it, dear; it is such a wailing sort of word—it has the ring of death. Yet I can not go until you say it."
"You are stifling me!" she says passionately. "Let me go, let me go; I can not breathe!"
"Say 'Farewell!'"
He waits, waits on patiently; but she never says it.