Pagina 233 di 490

Poor Sibyl! What a romance it had all been! She had often

mimicked death on the stage. Then Death himself had touched her

and taken her with him. How had she played that dreadful last

scene? Had she cursed him, as she died? No; she had died for love

of him, and love would always be a sacrament to him now. She had

atoned for everything by the sacrifice she had made of her life.

He would not think any more of what she had made him go through,

on that horrible night at the theatre. When he thought of her, it

would be as a wonderful tragic figure sent on to the world's

stage to show the supreme reality of love. A wonderful tragic

figure? Tears came to his eyes as he remembered her childlike

look, and winsome fanciful ways, and shy tremulous grace. He

brushed them away hastily and looked again at the picture.