She breathed hard, as he held to her with all his might.
"A dead hand is drawing me downward, hold me up, Otto!" she gasped. "Hold me up! Do not let me go! Do not let me go!"
And she kissed him, until he was almost delirious, drawing him close to her heart.
"Now you are mine—mine—mine!" she whispered, kissing him again and again, while his fingers were buried in the soft, silken wealth of her hair.
"The hour is brief,—life is short and uncertain—oh, let the hour be ours! Let us drain the glittering goblet to the dregs! Then we may cast it from us and say we have been happy! Death has no terror for us! I am thirsty, Stephania,—give me the pitcher."
She trembled in every limb.
"Do not let me go! Hold me, Otto,—do not let me go!" she almost shrieked, entwining him so tightly with her arms that he could scarcely breathe.
"I feel the fever returning—the water—Stephania—"
"Do not let me go!" she begged with mortal dread.
"I am burning up."