Shyly she turned her flushed face towards his, one hand, quivering like a frightened bird, softly drew his brown cheek closer, and the proud, beautiful, vestal lips nestled and clung to her husband's.
Sitting beside her on the bench, he said, as his brilliant, happy eyes studied her face:
"Will you please tell me when you began really to care for me?"
"What can that matter now? Do not make me look back into shadows I wish to forget. All our light shines ahead."
"I should like to fix the date of my coronation, that I may compute accurately my despotic reign from the hour I entered into possession of my kingdom. Tell me, sweetheart; why should you shrink?"
"Do you recall that last morning at home, when you came from the beach followed by the dogs? Seeing me at the window, you took off your cap and waved it. As I looked down at you then, something strange seemed suddenly to stir and wake up and tremble in my heart. I did not understand; it was a new feeling, and I was so wounded and tortured over many things I could not analyze it; supposed it a part of my punishment. I had seen you look better. Your boating suit and full evening dress were certainly more becoming, but in some unaccountable, extraordinary way that grey cap wave, and the peculiar expression I had never before seen in your eyes, brought you closer to me than you had ever been. When I sat alone in your smoking-room and saw the strapped trunks and your fur overcoat—like a coffin and a pall—a terribly bitter wave rolled over me at the thought of giving you up. I began to be jealous of Amos, and I envied the dear old dogs the tender caress of your stroking hand. At the last you coldly said good-bye; but when you caught, strained me against you, I found out what it all meant. I knew then that woman's heritage of sorrow was mine, and that my heart followed you into Polar night. The ache that began that day at Greyledge grew and tortured me until—I felt your arms around me once more."
He lifted her left hand and kissed it, pressing the ring against his face.
"Why did not you tell me? I should have been spared so much brutal bitterness of feeling."
"It was impossible after all the harsh, cruel things you had deemed it your duty to say to me, and you would have scouted such a sudden change of feeling as inconceivable, as absurd. The strangeness of the revelation overwhelmed, frightened me; I was more astonished than you would have been. Tell you? Mr. Noel, I would sooner have gone to the stake."
"Your silence tied me to one. Men are perverse devils. I hated the sight of this wedding ring; I longed to melt it in a crucible in my laboratory. You will never understand the storm that raged within me that day on the train when you hummed Kücken and laid the baby on your breast. Every time you lifted your hand and patted the poor little creature, that gold band danced and flashed in my eyes like a mocking imp. But your ring had its innings. After a year my temper cooled. Day and night I found myself drifting back more hopelessly to you; and always before me your little white hand flashed that circle—signet of my ownership—because you had clung to it and declared 'it was the badge of your loyalty.' I saw it in the blue gulfs of icebergs, in the wonderful orange radiance of auroral arches, in the glare of low, tired suns that could not set, in the unearthly lustre of moons holding vigil over a silent desert wrapped in its shroud of ice, and in the ghostly phosphorescence of snow-mantled glaciers. Always, everywhere, that dear ringed hand beckoned like a beacon. I knew you did not love me; I was grimly sure you never would; but the assurance that no other man could ever claim lips denied to me, that you would proudly hold and keep your precious self sacred to one whose name you bore, comforted me."