pares the red water, and knows me well. I will give you an order for
red water enough for us both. You will come--your father will not
refuse our joint request--you will come to me as soon as the trial is
over; and then, love, we will never be parted more."

Genifrede sat long with her face hidden on her lover's shoulder,
speechless. After repeated entreaties that she would say one word,
Moyse raised her up, and, looking in her face, said authoritatively--

"You will do as I say, Genifrede?"

"Moyse, I dare not. No, no, I dare not! If, when we are dead, you
should be dead to me too! And how do we know? If, the very next
moment, I should see only your dead body with my own--if you should be
snatched away somewhere, and I should be alone in some wide place--if I
should be doomed to wander in some dreadful region, calling upon you for
ever, and no answer! Oh, Moyse! we do not know what fearful things are
beyond. I dare not; no, no, I dare not! Do not be angry with me,
Moyse!"

"I thought you had been ready to live and die with me."

"And so I am--ready to live anywhere, anyhow--ready to die, if only we
could be sure--Oh! if you could only tell me there is nothing beyond--"

"I have little doubt," said Moyse, "that death is really what it is to
our eyes--an end of everything."

"Do you think so? If you could only assure me of that--But, if you were
really quite certain of that, would you wish me to die too?"

"Wish it! You must--you shall," cried he, passionately. "You are
mine--mine for ever; and I will not let you go. Do not you see--do not
you feel," he said, moderating his tone, "that you will die a slow death
of anguish, pining away, from the moment that cursed firing in the Place
strikes upon your ear? You cannot live without love--you know you
cannot--and you shall not live by any other love than mine. This little
sign," said he, producing a small carved ivory ring from his
pocket-book, "This little sign will save you from the anguish of a
thousand sleepless nights, from the wretchedness of a thousand days of
despair. Take it. If shown at Number 9, in the Rue Espagnole, in my
name, you will receive what will suffice for us both. Take it,
Genifrede."

She took the ring, but it presently dropped from her powerless hands.

"You do not care for me," said Moyse, bitterly. "You are like all
women. You love in fair weather, and would have us give up everything
for you; and when the hurricane