he ominous waning, which was death, was
stealing away her breath. She folded her thumbs within her fingers--a
sign that her last moments were approaching. It seemed as though the
first uncertain words of an angel just created were blended with the
last failing accents of the dying girl.

She murmured,--

"You will think of me, won't you? It would be very sad to be dead, and
to be remembered by no one. I have been wayward at times; I beg pardon
of you all. I am sure that, if God had so willed it, we might yet have
been happy, my Gwynplaine; for we take up but very little room, and we
might have earned our bread together in another land. But God has willed
it otherwise. I cannot make out in the least why I am dying. I never
complained of being blind, so that I cannot have offended any one. I
should never have asked for anything, but always to be blind as I was,
by your side. Oh, how sad it is to have to part!"

Her words were more and more inarticulate, evaporating into each other,
as if they were being blown away. She had become almost inaudible.

"Gwynplaine," she resumed, "you will think of me, won't you? I shall
crave it when I am dead."

And she added,--

"Oh, keep me with you!"

Then, after a pause, she said,--

"Come to me as soon as you can. I shall be very unhappy without you,
even in heaven. Do not leave me long alone, my sweet Gwynplaine! My
paradise was here; above there is only heaven! Oh! I cannot breathe! My
beloved! My beloved! My beloved!"

"Mercy!" cried Gwynplaine.

"Farewell!" murmured Dea.

And he pressed his mouth to her beautiful icy hands. For a moment it
seemed as if she had ceased to breathe. Then she raised herself on her
elbows, and an intense splendour flashed across her eyes, and through an
ineffable smile her voice rang out clearly.

"Light!" she cried. "I see!"

And she expired. She fell back rigid and motionless on the mattress.

"Dead!" said Ursus.

And the poor old man, as if crushed by his despair, bowed his bald head
and buried his swollen face in the folds of the gown which covered Dea's
feet. He lay there in a swoon.

Then Gwynplaine became awful. He arose, lifted his eyes, and gazed into
the vast gloom above him. Seen by none on earth, but looked down upon,
perhaps, as he stood in the darkness, by some invisible presence, he
stretched his hands on high, and said,--

"I come!"

And he strode across the deck, towards the side of the vessel, as if
beckoned by a