“I am going—going abroad with her. I came here to see the old place again for the last time.”
“God is very good,” he whispered, closing his eyes. “I might have died—without seeing you.” He stirred a little in her arms and tried weakly to thrust her away. “Now, you—you must go; you must leave me, dear. You must go—back to her.”
“No, no,” she cried, holding him closer. “I will not leave you now.”
“You must—you must. And take him with you. Hide him; don’t let them harm him. Oh, why torture me now? Do me this one—one last service. Go back—back to her; keep this from her. Tell her—some day—that I died—you need not—tell her—anything else. Will you go?”
“I can not, I can not!” she cried, weeping.
“You must—or you will undo—all I have tried—so hard to do. Don’t you understand?” He raised his eyes to the statue above them. “See—he smiles above us. You must leave me here. Here is my—resting place—here my fitting—monument. Leave me—here.” His eyes were closing again; his hands were groping for hers.
She bent nearer to him, kissed him on the lips, and whispered: “Listen. I will do all you wish, because—because I love you. Can you hear me?”
He smiled and gripped her hands more tightly. Bending to him again, she caught the whisper as she touched his lips: “God—is very good.” And then his eyes closed, and he died.
For a little time she sat holding him in her arms; then resolutely—remembering her promise—she got up and laid him gently at the foot of the statue, and caught the old man by the hand and ran down the hill toward the town. All was quiet. She noticed, as they went along swiftly, that the old man, who still carried the pistol in his hand, had lost the old strong dominant look from his face and was weak and passive as a child. She took the pistol from him, shuddering a little as she touched it, and hid it in her dress; took him to the door of his shop and thrust him in, and bade him, as she left him, be silent and to tell no one of his dreams. As she came out into the little street again, shaking from head to foot and striving to master her tears, the old man ran after her. He was smiling foolishly.