He made one low obeisance--his robes swept the passage quickly--and the Franciscan friar sought his lonely cell to reflect on death.
The brothers re-entered. They found Acmé in the attitude in which they had left her--her features wearing an expression at once radiant and resigned.
But--as her eye met George's--as she saw the havoc grief had already made--the feelings of the woman resumed the mastery.
She extended her arms--she brought his lip to hers--as if she would have made that its resting place for ever.
Alas! an inward pang told her to be brief. She drew away her face, crimsoned with her passion's flush--tremblingly grasped his hand---and, with voice choked by emotion, gave her last farewell.
"Giorgio, my dearest! my own! I shall soon join my parents. I feel this--and my mother's words, as she met me by the olive tree, ring in my ear.
"She told me I should die thus; but she told me, too, that I should kill the one dearest to me on earth. Thank God! this cannot be--for I know my life to be ebbing fast.
"Dearest I do not mourn for me too much. You may find another Acmé--as true. But, oh! sometimes--yes! even when your hearts cling fondly together, as ours were wont to do--think of your own Acmé--who loved you first--and only--and does it now! oh! how well! Giorgio! dear! dearest! adieu! My feet are so, so cold--and ice seems"--
A change shadowed the face, as from some corporeal pang.
She tried to raise an ebony cross hung round her neck.