"I can see nothing and nobody. May I light one of the lamps?"
"Yes, do."
He bustled through the room, hunted for matches, lit a lamp in the corner:
"That's it. Now at least I can see you."
He came nearer: a young, handsome, bright boy, with his good-looking, healthy face and his serious, blue eyes; broad and strong, shedding a note of joy in the melancholy room, which lit up softly with the glow of its one lamp, behind Constance. She smiled at him, drew him down beside her, put her arms round him while he kissed her:
"He is left!" she said, softly, with a glance at Brauws, referring to the last words which he had spoken.
He understood:
"Yes," he answered—and his gloom seemed suddenly to brighten into a sort of rueful gladness, a yearning hope that all was not yet lost, that his dreams might be realized not by myself, but by another, by Addie—and he repeated her own, radiant words, "Yes, yes, he is left!"
The boy did not understand, looked at them both by turns and smiled enquiringly, receiving only their smiles in answer . . .
