The light of life is where you are, the darkness of death is everywhere where you are not.

But I am condemned to die, cut off, predestined to be lost--for you have no pity, Unorna, you cannot find it in you to be sorry for the poor old man whose last pulse will beat for you; whose last word will be your name; whose last look upon your beauty will end the dream in which he lived his life.

What can it be to you, that I love you so?
Why should it be anything to you?
When I am gone--with the love of you in my heart, Unorna--when they have buried the ugly old body out of your sight, you will not even remember that I was once your companion, still less that I knelt before you, that I kissed the ground on which you stood; that I loved you as men love whose hearts are breaking, that I touched the hem of your garment and was for one moment young--that I besought you to press my hand but once, with one thought of kindness, with one last and only word of human pity--" He broke off suddenly, and there was a tremor in his voice which lent intense expression to the words.

He was kneeling upon one knee beside Unorna, but between her and the light, so that she saw his face indistinctly.

She could not but pity him.