"He would kill a woman if he grew tired of her."
"Oh, you must not speak so. I love him, and—he has asked me to be his wife."
"Good-bye."
"Good-bye."
****
The priest stood at the bedside of the dying woman, he looked down upon her and wondered at her face. Her hair had turned pure white, and she so young. Her eyes were the eyes of a hare, full of watching, always seeming to be expecting some sudden fright. Her nervous hands, for ever twitching, kept pulling at the blankets and moving unceasingly.
"I sent for you," she said, with a weak smile," to tell you how wrong you were. He has been good to me, and loves me so. I pray God for his sake not to let me die."
The door was flung open and a man staggered in. The woman stretched out her thin arms to him, and then saw his face. She gave a shrill death cry, and rising from her bed, fell towards him. The priest made a step to raise her, but drew back, giving the man his place.
