The Choir Invisible

She answered as if by no will of her own:"The night of the ball--as we were

going home."

She waited until she felt that she should sink to the ground.

Then he spoke again as if rather to himself than to her, and with the

deepest sorrow and pity for them both: "If I had gone with you that night--if I had gone with you that night--and

had asked you--you would have married me."

Her lips began to quiver and all that was in her to break down before

him--to yearn for him. In a voice neither could scarce hear she said: "I will marry you yet!"

She listened. She waited, Out of the darkness she could distinguish not the

rustle of a movement, not a breath of sound; and at last cowering back into

herself with shame, she buried her face in her hands.

Then she was aware that he had come forward and was standing over her. He

bent his head down so close that his lids touched her hair--so close that

his warm breath was on her forehead--and she felt rather than knew him

saying to himself, not to her: "Good-bye!"

He passed like a tall spirit out of the door, and she heard his footsteps

die away along the path--die slowly away as of one who goes never to return.