“And if this were our last moment—if there were no question of age or of going on—then—then would you tell me that you have felt something of my feeling—the finding—the recognition—the rapture—own to it with joy?”
She turned to him now and looked at him, at his eager, solemn face, the supplication and worship of his clasped hands, looked for a long time, without speaking. But her face, though she was so white and so grave, seemed, as she looked, to reflect, with a growing radiance, the youth in his.
“I have felt it,” she said at last, “but I have hardly known that I felt it.”
“You know now?”
“Yes, I know now.”
“You could own to it—with joy?”
“If this were our last moment.—Ah, my friend!” He had taken her into his arms.
The long years drifted away like illusions before an awakening. Her girl-hood—but weighted with such dreams of sorrow and loneliness!—seemed with her again. She was helpless, though her heart reproached him and herself, yet could not wholly reproach—helpless in a happiness poignant and exquisite. They kissed each other gently, and, his arms around her, they looked earnestly at each other. Speechlessly they looked the finding, the recognition, the rapture.
The meeting in heaven had come; but there was still the earth to be counted with.