The rain began again and Roger threw another log on the fire. The acacia lashed its long, thin arms and the rising wind cried over the hill. Anne felt Roger's look on her and very slowly her own rose to meet it.
"Shall we try again, Anne?"
"Y-e-s," Anne whispered, and her eyes filled with tears.
Roger drew her gently to him. There was no passion of possession in his hold, but deep tenderness and protection,
"I think it will be all right this time, Princess."
Anne stood close.
"Are you quite sure, Roger, that you want it so?"
"Yes. For myself I am quite sure. And you?"
"I'm—sure—too."
They stood so for a moment, then Roger drew her gently nearer.