"But I have done other things, oh, so many other things, that were—were ignoble, that were wrong!" she cried, pitifully, a terror of her past growing up within her.
"Do you love me?" he said, suddenly, turning to her.
"I would die for you, this day!" she said. And by the beauty and the sudden glory that swept over her face once more he knew her word was not to be doubted.
"Then the other things can never count!" he answered, kissing her tenderly on her cold cheek.
A cold wind blew up the river, and the dusk was falling. Their day was almost gone. Cordelia looked up at the darkening sky, and held her hands out before her.
"See," she said, "the snow-flakes!"
A few white flakes drifted and fluttered down between them; she caught at them with her hands, but they eluded her.
"Yes," he said, standing close beside her, happily, and gazing with her up into the darkening air. "It is snow, falling already!"
Then through the sober autumn air they walked slowly back to the hotel, arm in arm, and silent.
"I must be alone, dearest, for the rest of this day," she said, happily. He understood, and left her to her own woman's thoughts.