The sun turned away and hid his darkened face.

“It is sorrow,” whispered the fuchsia, and a red tear fell on the window-sill below.

* * * * *

And yet, beneath the veil of sorrow showed a warm red glow—­the great secret that was between them.  It was as if their eyes were opened, and they saw each other truly for the first time—­no longer a youth and a maiden, but two human creatures thrilled with sorrow and joy in the pale dawn.

“Can you ever forgive me?” he asked, his voice trembling.

“Forgive...?” echoed the girl, and threw her arms round his neck.

“And you will not think of me with bitterness?” he asked again.

“How could I ever think of you with bitterness—­you who have been everything to me?  But why must you go away now?”

“Ay, why must we say good-bye now?” said he, with a sigh, as if hardly knowing what he said.

“If you only knew how I shall miss you....”

“And if you knew....  O Heaven!  But what can I do?”

“Don’t be unhappy for my sake; I know you can do nothing to change it.  And how can I ask more of you, after all you have given me?  If only I could see you again some time; only once, once even after many years—­if I only could....”

“Perhaps I may come one day—­just to see you....”

“Come, come!  I shall wait for you week after week.”

* * * * *

Slowly he drew out his watch, looked at it, and showed it to the girl.

“Yes, you must go now.  But how can I ever let you go?”

“How can I ever go?  Oh, if only it were always night, and day never to come!”

“Yes—­the last, long night—­and after that the Judgment.  I should not fear it now.  Only a minute—­only a minute more.  One more look—­there—­and now I can never forget.”

“Pansy, Pansy,” he murmured tenderly.  But his breast heaved with distress—­it was as if the latch had been torn from the door, leaving it open to all who cared.  “One thing you must promise me—­after this....”  His voice was like that of a drowning man.  “Never to care for any other but the one you choose some day, for life.”

“How should I ever care for any other?” said the girl wonderingly.  “And even then I shall love you just the same—­even then.”

“No, no, no!  It would be worse than all.  When you choose for life you must give all your love.”

“No need to tell me that,” said the girl in a low voice that thrilled him with pleasure and yet heightened his fears.

“Promise me!  You don’t know why I ask you, why I beg of you to promise that.  It is not for my own sake,” he urged.

“I promised you that long ago—­the first time we ever met,” said the girl, and cowered close to him.

They drew apart, and stood up.

Holding him by the hand, she followed him to the door.  Then flinging her arms about his neck, she clung to him as if she would never let him go.  He took her in his arms, himself on the point of swooning; he felt her hair wet with tears against his cheek, and their lips met.