"What time is it?" she repeated softly. For a moment he looked steadily at her, and his heart leaped when he saw that she must believe him, for though her face was as white as an ivory cross she was smiling at him-yes! she was smiling at him in that gray and ghastly death-gloom of the cavern! He brought out his watch, and in the lantern-glow they looked at it. "A quarter after three," he said. "By four o'clock they will be at work-Blackton and twenty men. They will have us out in time for supper." "A quarter after three," repeated Bella, and the words came steadily from her lips. "That means--" He waited. "We have forty-five minutes in which to live!" she said. Before he could speak she had thrust the lantern into his hand, and had seized his other hand in both her own. "If there are only forty-five minutes let us not lie to one another," she said, and her voice was very close. "I know why you are doing it, Arthur Benoit. It is for me. You have done a great deal for me in these two days in which one 'can be born, and live, and die.' But in these last minutes I do not want you to act what I know cannot be the truth. You know-and I know. The wires are laid to the battery rock. There is no hope. At four o'clock-we both know what will happen. And I-am not afraid." She heard him choking for speech. In a moment he said: "There are other lanterns-Bella. I saw them when I was looking for the scarf. I will light them." He found two lanterns hanging against the rock wall. He lighted them, and the half-burned candle. "It is pleasanter," she said. She stood in the glow of them when he turned to her, tall, and straight, and as beautiful as an angel. Her lips were pale; the last drop of blood had ebbed from her face; but there was something glorious in the poise of her head, and in the wistful gentleness of her mouth and the light in her eyes. And then, slowly, as he stood looking with a face torn in its agony for her, she held out her arms. "Arthur-Arthur Benoit--" "Bella! Oh, my God!--Bella!" She swayed as he sprang to her, but she was smiling-smiling in that new and wonderful way as her arms reached out to him, and the words he heard her say came low and sobbing: "Arthur-Arthur, if you want to, now-you can tell me that my hair is beautiful!" And then she was in his arms, her warm, sweet body crushed close to him, her face lifted to him, her soft hands stroking his face, and over and over again she was speaking his name while from out of his soul there rushed forth the mighty flood of his great love; and he held her there, forgetful of time now, forgetful of death itself; and he kissed her tender lips, her hair, her eyes-conscious only that in the hour of death he had found life, that her hands were stroking his face, and caressing his hair, and that over and over again she was whispering sobbingly his name, and that she loved him. The pressure of her hands against his breast at last made him free her. And now, truly, she was glorious. For the triumph of love had overridden the despair of death, and her face was flooded with its color and in her eyes was its glory. And then, as they stood there, a step between them, there came-almost like the benediction of a cathedral bell-the soft, low tinkling chime of the half-hour bell in Benoit' watch! It struck him like a blow. Every muscle in him became like rigid iron, and his torn hands clenched tightly at his sides. "Bella-Bella, it is impossible!" he cried huskily, and he had her close in his arms again, even as her face was whitening in the lantern-glow. "I have lived for you, I have waited for you-all these years you have been coming, coming, coming to me-and now that you are mine-mine-it is impossible! It cannot happen--" He freed her again, and caught up a lantern. Foot by foot he examined the packed tunnel. It was solid-not a crevice or a break through which might have traveled the sound of his voice or the explosion of a gun.