She looked at him with a faint and doubtful smile, remembering nothing of that hour in the room below, of those minutes in the moonlit garden.  “Gather the rosebuds while ye may,” she said; and then, “The house is large.  Good giant, eat me not!”

The man upon his knees beside her uttered a cry, and began to speak to her, thickly, rapidly, words of agony, entreaty, and love.  To-morrow and for all life habit would resume its sway, and lost love, remorse, and vain regrets put on a mask that was cold and fine and able to deceive.  To-night there spoke the awakened heart.  With her hands cold in his, with his agonized gaze upon the face from which the light was slowly passing, he poured forth his passion and his anguish, and she listened not.  They moistened her lips, and one opened wide the window that gave upon the east.  “It was all a dream,” she said; and again, “All a dream.”  A little later, while the sky flushed slowly and the light of the candles grew pale, she began suddenly, and in a stronger voice, to speak as Arpasia:—­

    “’If it be happiness, alas! to die,
      To lie forgotten in the silent grave’”—­

“Forgotten!” cried Haward.  “Audrey, Audrey, Audrey!  Go not from me!  Oh, love, love, stay awhile!”

“The mountains,” said Audrey clearly.  “The sun upon them and the lifting mist.”

“The mountains!” he cried.  “Ay, we will go to them, Audrey, we will go together!  Why, you are stronger, sweetheart!  There is strength in your voice and your hands, and a light in your eyes.  Oh, if you will live, Audrey, I will make you happy!  You shall take me to the mountains—­we will go together, you and I!  Audrey, Audrey”—­

But Audrey was gone already.