Brown bent ever lower as he listened, his great body shaking in the effort to repress his sobs, his lips pressing against her white cheek.
"I kiss you now, señor," she whispered, faintly. "Just de once, like I vas your vife."
Their lips met, the very soul of each seemingly in the soft, clinging contact. Suddenly the poor girl sank backward, her head falling heavily upon his supporting arm, a peculiar shudder twitching her slender form.
"Mercedes!" he cried in alarm.
"Si, señor," the black eyes still wide open, but her words scarcely audible. "Eet is so hard to see you; maybe de stars hide behin' de cloud, but, but I lofe—"
"Yes, y-yes, I kn-know."
She lifted her arms, then dropped them heavily upon his bowed shoulders.
"Dar is such a brightness come, señor. Eet light everyting like eet vas de day. Maybe I be good too, now dat a good man lofe me; maybe de God forgif all de bad because I lofe. You tink so? Oh, eet—eet joys me so—señor! señor!"
Motionless, almost breathless, but for the sobs shaking his great figure, he held her tightly, bending low, her white cheek against his own, her head pillowed upon his arm. About them was the silence, the solemn night shadows, amid which waited Hicks and Winston earnestly watching. Finally, the latter spoke gently, striving to arouse the man; but Stutter Brown never lifted his head, never removed his eyes from the death-white face upheld by his arm. As though stricken to stone he remained motionless, seemingly lifeless, his face as pallid as the dead he guarded. Hicks bent over and placed one hand upon his shoulder.
"Stutter, ol' pard," he said, pleadingly. "I know it's mighty hard, but don't take on so; don't act that way. It can't do her no manner o' good now. It's all—all over with, an' you ain't helpin' her none a-settin' thar that way."