“Guess how long we have been sitting here!” said Eanswyth at last, with a rapid glance at her watch. “No—don’t look,” she added hurriedly, “I want you to guess.”
“About half an hour, it seems. But I suppose it must be more than that.”
“Exactly two hours and ten minutes.”
“Two hours and ten minutes of our last peaceful day together—gone. Of our first and our last day together.”
“Why do you say our last, dear?” she murmured, toying with his hair. His head lay on her lap, his blue eyes gazing up into her large grey ones.
“Because, as I told you, I have a strong inkling that way—at any rate, for some time to come. It is wholly lamentable, but, I’m afraid, inevitable.”
She bent her head—her beautiful stately head—drooped her lips to his and kissed them passionately.
“Eustace, Eustace, my darling—my very life! Why do I love you like this!”
“Because you can’t help it, my sweet one!” he answered, returning her kisses with an ardour equalling her own.
“Why did I give way so soon? Why did I give way at all? As you say, because I couldn’t help it—because—in short, because it was you. You drew me out of myself—you forced me to love you, forced me to. Ah-h! and how I love you!”