“No, Jasper; it can never be—­never.  Do you think I am not suffering—­that it is nothing to me to lose you?  Try to think better of me.  Oh, Jasper, it is hard indeed for me, and—­I love you so.”

“No, no,” she went on; “do not make the task harder for me.  Why can you not curse me?  It would be easier then.  Why can you not hate me as you ought?  Oh, if you would but strike me and go, I could better bear this hour!”

There was such abandonment of entreaty in her tones that my heart bled for her; yet I could only answer—­

“Claire, I will not give you up; not though you went on your knees and implored it.  Death alone can divide us now; and even death will never kill my love.”

“Death!” she answered.  “Think, then, that I am dead; think of me as under the mould.  Ah, love, hearts do not break so easily.  You would grieve at first, but in a little while I should be forgotten.”

“Claire!”

“Forgive me, love; not forgotten.  I wronged you when I said the word.  Believe me, Jasper, that if there be any gleam of day in the blackness that surrounds me it is the thought that you so love me; and yet it would have been far easier otherwise—­far easier.”

Little by little my hope was slipping from me; but still I strove with her as a man battles for his life.  I raved, protested, called earth and heaven to witness her cruelty; but all in vain.

“It would be a sin—­a horrible sin!” she kept saying.  “God would never forgive it.  No, no; do not try to persuade me—­it is horrible!” and she shuddered.

Utterly beaten at last by her obstinacy, I said—­

“I will leave you now to think it over.  Let me call again and hear that you repent.”

“No, love; we must never meet again.  This must be our last good-bye.  Stay!” and she smiled for the first time since that meeting in the cemetery.  “Come to ‘Francesca’ to-night; I am going to act.”

“What! to-night?”

“Yes.  One must live, you see, even though one suffers.  See, I have a ticket for you—­for a box.  You will come?  Promise me.”

“Never, Claire.”

“Yes, promise me.  Do me this last favour; I shall never ask another.”

I took the card in silence.

“And now,” she said, “you may kiss me.  Kiss me on the lips for the last time, and may God bless you, my love.”

Quite calmly and gently she lifted her lips to mine, and on her face was the glory of unutterable tenderness.

“Claire!  My love, my love!” My arms were round her, her whole form yielded helplessly to mine, and as our lips met in that one passionate, shuddering caress, sank on my breast.

“You will not leave me?” I cried.

And through her sobs came the answer—­

“Yes, yes; it must be, it must be.”

Then drawing herself up, she held out her hand and said—­

“To-night, remember, and so—­farewell.”