“Shall I need a defender?” she asked, lowering her eyes.
“I hope not; but I flatter myself you will need me, anyhow. Haven’t you discovered how well we suit each other, Gwen?”
“Perhaps. But, oh! Lawrence, tell me truth, I beseech you—and I will trust you altogether now—is there anything that should or ought to prevent our marriage?”
“Before Heaven, no!” he answered emphatically.
“I must believe you, in spite of my eyes and my reason, in spite of my conscience, for I have only one hope in the world, one thought.”
Then she slipped off her seat, hid her head on his breast, and added, in a shrinking whisper:
“If what you told me just now is an untruth, I forbid you to undeceive me ever! You hear? My life is locked up in yours from henceforth; and if the day should come,” she added, more faintly still, “that we ought to part, why, then Heaven will be merciful, perhaps, and let us both die instead.”
And then she writhed, white and shivering, out of his arms.
“Oh! Lawrence, I am afraid!”
“Afraid of what, my love?” he asked tenderly, enfolding her once more, and kissing her lips with all a lover’s fire.