She leant against the door for support, and she no longer struggled
to withdraw her hands from that strong grasp which held them. She fought
against the faintness that was stealing over her senses; but her heavy
eyelids were beginning to droop, and there was a sound like rushing water
in her ears.
"Angela--Angela," pleaded the tender voice, "do you forget that afternoon
at the play, and how you wept over Bellario's fidelity--the fond girl-page
who followed him she loved; risked name and virtue; counted not the
cost, in that large simplicity of love which gives all it has to give,
unquestioning? Remember Bellario."
"Bellario had no thought that was not virtue's," she answered faintly; and
he took that fainter tone for a yielding will.
"She would not have left Philaster if he had been alone in the wilderness,
miserable for want of her love."
Her white lips moved dumbly, her eyelids sank, and her head fell back
upon his shoulder, as he started up from his knees to support her sinking
figure. She was in his arms, unconscious--the image of death.
He kissed her on the brow.
"My soul, I will owe nothing to thy helplessness," he whispered. "Thy free
will shall decide whether I live or die.
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