A lump in her throat, she clasped him to her without a word, and their lips met and clung in sorrowful communion.
He bent over her and touched the emerald pendant about her throat. “Keep it always in memory of me,” he whispered. “Promise?”
She nodded. A rending pain, as of disruption racked her to the bone. “I promise.” Her voice broke. She turned away and flung herself face downwards on to the pillows. “Go, please go, I cannot bear any more.”
He stumbled to his feet and looked down upon her for the final time, a lingering look, as if he were trying to quench the thirst of the years to come in one consuming glance.
“Good-by, my very, my only dearest. Try to forgive me if you can. Remember that I love you, and always shall love you to the very end.”
Then he went away.
The door closed behind him with a soft, insistent finality that resounded against Anne’s heart like the first clod of earth upon a beloved coffin. She suddenly felt old and inexpressibly weary, as if he had taken her youth away with him forever. She broke into a fit of passionate weeping.
CHAPTER XXVI
“WILL YOU TAKE ME—”
Spring had taken possession of Florence. Its glamour, its dewy freshness, lay over all. The pregnant earth intoxicated with incense of new-born life.
On the hillside, Anne’s garden was abloom. Hyacinths and lilies, daffodils, jonquils and pansies, bordered the graveled paths. Morning-glories crept along the rose-tinted walls. In intricate designs, orderly brigades of tulips, flung heavenwards their gorgeous cups. Lilac bushes showered fragrance from all sides. The fountain, silent all winter, gushed forth in renewed lilt. In its center, a marble cupid, scarred and darkened with years, dimpled, perennially roguish.