In a moment more she would be with him, for ever, and in peace.

They would find her there, dead, and perhaps they would be merciful and bury her near him.

But that would matter little, since she should be with him always now.

In the first grief that struck her, and bruised her, and numbed her as with material blows, she had no tears, but there was a sort of choking fire in her throat, and her eyes burned her like hot iron.
She did not know how long she knelt, waiting for death.

She was dying, and there was no time any more, nor any outward world, nor anything but her lover's dead body on the floor in the next room, and his soul waiting for hers, waiting beside her for her to die also, that they might go together.