In the silence she bent over him,
her hand on the black head. So the time slipped
on and on; and they neither moved nor spoke.
"Dear, it is almost twelve," she said at last.
He raised his head.
"We have only a few minutes more; Martini
will be back presently. Perhaps we shall never
see each other again. Have you nothing to say
to me?"
He slowly rose and walked away to the other
side of the room. There was a moment's silence.
"I have one thing to say," he began in a hardly
audible voice; "one thing--to tell you----"
He stopped and sat down by the window, hiding
his face in both hands.
"You have been a long time deciding to be
merciful," she said softly.
"I have not seen much mercy in my life; and I
thought--at first--you wouldn't care----"
"You don't think that now."
She waited a moment for him to speak and then
crossed the room and stood beside him.
"Tell me the truth at last," she whispered.
"Think, if you are killed and I not--I should have
to go through all my life and never know--never
be quite sure----"
He took her hands and clasped them tightly.
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