He rested a moment as he was, then straightened up impatiently as though ashamed.
"Death is death," he said in matter-of-fact tones.
Athalie slowly shook her head: "There is no death."
He nodded almost gratefully: "I know what you mean. I dare say you are right.... Well—I think I'll go back to Yhdunez."
"Not this evening?" she protested, smilingly.
He smiled, too: "No, not this evening, Miss Greensleeve. I shall never care to go anywhere again—"... His face altered.... "Unless you care to go—with me."
What he had said she would have taken gaily, lightly, had not the gravity of his face forbidden it. She saw the lean muscles tighten along his clean-cut cheek, saw the keen eyes grow wistful, then steady themselves for her answer.
She could not misunderstand him; she disdained to,
honouring the simplicity and truth of this man to whom she was so truly devoted.
Her abandoned sewing lay on her lap. Hafiz slept with one velvet paw entangled in her thread. She looked down, absently freeing thread and fabric, and remained so for a moment, thinking. After a while she looked up, a trifle pale: