before it was too late, she must know the face she had long loved in dreams.  Her longing satisfied, her grief broke out again, and she let herself fall her length upon the floor beside Don John, one arm across his chest, her head resting against the motionless shoulder, her face almost hidden against the gathered velvet and silk of his doublet.  Once or twice she sobbed convulsively, and then she lay quite still, trying with all her might to die there, on his arm, before any one came to disturb her.  It seemed very simple, just to stop living and stay with him for ever.

Again she heard a sound of deep-drawn breath—­but it was close to her now, and her own arm moved with it on his chest—­the dead man had moved, he had sighed.  She started up wildly, with a sharp cry, half of paralyzing fear, and half of mad delight in a hope altogether impossible.  Then, he drew his breath again, and it issued from his lips with a low groan.  He was not quite dead yet, he might speak to her still, he could hear her voice, perhaps, before he really died.  She could never have found courage to kiss him, even then she could have blushed scarlet at the thought, but she bent down to his face, very close to it, till her cheek almost touched his as she spoke in a very trembling, low voice.

“Not yet—­not yet—­come back for one moment, only for one little moment!  Oh, let it be God’s miracle for me!”

She hardly knew what she said, but the miracle was there, for she heard his breath come again and again, and as she stared into her everlasting night, strange flashes, like light, shot through her brain, her bosom trembled, and her hands stiffened in the spasm of a delirious joy.

“Come back!” she cried again.  “Come back!” Her hands shook as they felt his body move.

His voice came again, not in a word yet, but yet not in a groan of pain.  His eyes, that had been half open and staring, closed with a look of rest, and colour rose slowly in his cheeks.  Then he felt her breath, and his strength returned for an instant, his arms contracted and clasped her to him violently.

“Dolores!” he cried, and in a moment his lips rained kisses on her face, while his eyes were still closed.

Then he sank back again exhausted, and her arm kept his head from striking the marble floor.  The girl’s cheek flushed a deep red, as she tried to speak, and her words came broken and indistinct.

“I am not Dolores,” she managed to say.  “I am Inez—­”

But he did not hear, for he was swooning again, and the painful blush sank down again, as she realized that he was once more unconscious.  She wondered whether the room were dark or whether there were lights, or whether he had not opened his eyes when he had kissed her.  His head was very heavy on her arm.  With her other hand she drew off the hood she wore and rolled it together, and lifting him a little she made a pillow of it so that he rested easily.