Truyn did his bidding. The letter was sealed and addressed to Zinka in Cecil's fine firm hand. She opened it; it contained the note that Sempaly had written before starting for Frascati and Sterzl had added a few words of explanation in case it should not fall into Zinka's hands till after his death.
She read it all while the dying man anxiously watched her face, but her expression did not alter by a shade. Sempaly's words glided over her heart without touching it; even when she had read both notes she did not speak. Two red flames burnt in her pale cheeks.
"I got ... the note ... too late," said Sterzl sadly, "the general ... can tell you how ... how it all happened ... I lost my head ... but he ... he is safe, so you must forgive me ... and do ... act ... as if I had never existed ... then ... I shall rest ... in peace ... and be happy in ... my grave ... if I know ... that you are ... happy."
Still she did not speak; her eyes were strangely overcast; but it was not with grief for her lost happiness. Suddenly she tore the note across and dropped the pieces on the floor.
"If he had written ten letters," she cried, "it would have made no difference now; do not let that worry you, Cecil--it is all at an end. Even if there were no gulf between us I could never be his wife! I have ceased to love him.--How mean he is in my eyes--compared with you!"
And so the brother and sister were at one again; the discord was resolved.
For more than four and twenty hours Cecil wrestled with death and Zinka never left his side. The certainty of their mutual and complete devotion was a melancholy consolation in the midst of this cruel parting. The pain he suffered was agonizing; particularly during the night and the early morning; but he bore it with superb fortitude and it was only by the nervous clenching of his hands and the involuntary distortion of his features that he betrayed his suffering. He hardly for a moment slept; he refused the opiate sent by the surgeon; he wished to "keep his head" as long as possible.
When Zinka--with a thousand tender circumlocutions--suggested to him that he should receive the last sacraments of the Church he agreed. "If it will be any comfort to you, Butterfly," he sighed; and he received the priest with reverent composure.
In the afternoon he was easier--Zinka began to hope.
"You are better," she whispered imploringly, "you are better, are you not?"