The old man turned his face and said, "Paulina."
"She is here," said old Portnoff, "but she can't move."
At the sound of his voice, the woman struggled up to her knees, crawled over to his side, the blood flowing from her wound, and taking his hand, held it to her lips.
"Paulina," he said, "you have done well—you are—my wife again—come near me."
The woman made an inarticulate moan like some dumb beast, and lifted her face toward him.
"Kiss me," he said.
"Ah, my lord," she cried, sobbing wildly, "my dear lord, I dare not."
"Kiss me," he said again.
"Now let me die," she cried, kissing him on the lips, and falling down in a faint beside him.
Brown lifted her and laid her in Portnoff's arms. The dying man lay silent, gathering his strength. He was breathing now with great difficulty.