Her pale face, misty with sweetness, wavered before him in the dusk, and he lifted his shaking hand to his forehead; her own went with it, and the touch of that steadied him.
“You mean,” he whispered, brokenly, “you mean that you—”
“Yes, always,” she answered, rushing through the words, half in tears. “There was a little time when I loved what your life had been more than you. Ah, it was you that I saw in him. Yet it was not what you had done after all, but just you! I knew there could not be anyone else—though I thought it could never be you—that night, just before they gave the flag.”
“We've little time, Vanrevel!” called the voice from the porch.
Tom's eyes filled slowly. He raised them and looked at the newly come stars. “Crailey, Crailey!” he murmured.
Her gaze followed his. “Ah, it's he—and they—that make me know you will come back to me!” she said.