Arms and the Woman

"No, Gretchen," said I, "he does not doubt it, but he wishes me to do

so. I believe in your innocence as I believe in your love."

"It is sad, is it not," said she, "that we must go through our days

loving each other and all the world standing between? I have never

loved a man before; I did not want to love you. I did not know that I

loved you till I saw that your life was in danger. Yet I am glad that

I have lived for a brief second, for till a woman loves she does not

live. I am brave; do you be likewise. I shall go back to the world,

and who shall know of the heart of fire beneath the ice! Not even the

man I love. Kiss me; it is the last kiss I shall take from the lips of

any man."

And it seemed to me that our souls met in that last kiss, melted and

became one. Her hands dropped to her side, and swiftly she sped from

the room.

She had entered the coach. The cavalrymen were perched upon the box.

There was a crack of the lash, and the coach rolled away. I watched

it, standing in the road. A cloud of yellow dust partially obscured it

from view. Half a mile beyond rose a small hill. This the coach

mounted, and the red gold of the smoldering sun engulfed it. Was it a

face I saw at the window? Perhaps. Then over the hill all

disappeared, and with it the whole world, and I stood in emptiness,

alone.

Gretchen had gone.