"A marvelous thing has come to me," said Lynborough, speaking slower than his wont, "and with it a great courage. I have seen my dream. This morning I came here not knowing whether I should see it. I don't speak of the face of my dream-image only, though I could speak till next St. John's Day upon that. I speak to a soul. I think our souls have known one another longer, aye, and better than our faces."
"Yes, I think it is so," she said quietly. "Yet who can tell so soon?"
"There's a great gladness upon me because my dream came true."
"Who can tell so soon?" she asked again. "It's strange to speak of it."
"It may be that some day—yes, some day soon—in return for the homage of my lips on your hand, I would ask the recognition of my lip's right on your cheek."
She came up to him and laid her hand on his arm. "Suffer me a little while, my lord," she said. "You've swept into my life like a whirlwind; you would carry me by assault as though I were a rebellious city. Am I to be won before ever I am wooed?"
"You sha'n't lack wooing," he said quickly. "Yet haven't I wooed you already—as well in my quarrel as in my homage, in our strife as in the end of it?"
"I think so, yes. Yet suffer me a little still."
"If you doubt—" he cried.
"I don't think I doubt. I linger." She gave her hand into his. "It's strange, but I cannot doubt."