He had not done that yet, even when she had been in his room at Monteverde and the loaded revolver had been between them.
Sister Giovanna kept his hand bravely in hers and sat still, though it was hard.

The question which must be answered, and which she alone could answer, had been asked with frightful directness, and though she had known only too well that it was coming, its tremendous import paralysed her and she could not speak.
It was plainly this: Should she kill him, of her own free will, for the sake of the solemn vow she had taken?
Or should she save his life by breaking, even under permission, what she looked on as an absolutely inviolable promise?
What made her position most terrible was the absolute certainty of the fatal result, and its close imminence.

In his condition, to put off the operation for another day, in order to consider her answer, would be to condemn him to death according to all probability of human science, since a few hours longer than that would put probability out of the question and make it a positive certainty.

She could not speak; her tongue would not move when she tried to form words and her breath made no sound in her throat.
For some time Giovanni said nothing more, and lay quite still.

When he spoke again, his voice was gentle.
'Dear, since it must be, I should like it to come like this, if you will--with my hand between yours.' It was too much, and she cried aloud and bowed herself.