His eye never abated in its fierce question.
"I will wait for you yonder, if I die first," she whispered.
He came closer, waiting for an answer.
"And--I love you, Stephen." He gathered her in his arms, and put his cold lips to hers, without a word; then turned, and left her slowly.
She made no sign, shed no tear, as she stood, watching him go.

It was all over: she had willed it, herself, and yet--he could not go! God would not suffer it! Oh, he could not leave her,--he could not!--He went down the hill, slowly.

If it were a trial of life and death for her, did he know or care ?--He did not look back.

What if he did not?
his heart was true; he suffered in going; even now he walked wearily.
God forgive her, if she had wronged him!--What did it matter, if he were hard in this life, and it hurt her a little?
It would come right,--beyond, some time.

But life was long .-- She would not sit down, sick as she was: he might turn, and it would vex him to see her suffer .-- He walked slowly; once he stopped to pick up something.