“No, I think not,” I answered; “we must be starting westward.”
“Then I must say good-by to it;” and she ran back to the entrance, drew aside the curtain and fell upon her knees. I saw her throw a kiss into the darkness and her head bent for a moment as though in prayer. I, too, closed my eyes and prayed God that He would give me strength to guide this woman through to safety. At last she arose and rejoined me.
“It is a lovable cave,” she said, “and it kept us safe. It would have been ungrateful to go away without a word of thanks;” and somehow, for me, as for her, the cavern in that instant assumed a personality, benign and cheerful. I could fancy it glowing with pleasure at thought of this last good deed.
“You were right,” I agreed. “But then you are always right.”
“Oh, no,” she protested quickly. “Sometimes I am very wrong. But you will discover that for yourself.”
“Shall I? When?”
“All too soon, I fear;” and she looked at me with a curious little smile.
“I don’t believe it!” I retorted, with conviction.
She only smiled again in a way I could not understand, and blushed and went on without speaking. Who can read a woman’s thoughts? Certainly not I!
But I was fiercely, madly happy. For the moment no thought of the future, of its penalties and duties, shadowed me. I was content to be here with this brave and lovely girl, alone with her—a comrade and friend. Since nothing more was possible,—since to friend and comrade I could not add lover,—I would yet be happy in what was granted me. And that I must be content with this, I saw too well—not in any coldness or aversion, but by a subtle change of manner, the merest nuance of expression, which at the same time kept me near to her, and yet held me away. On the tower she had permitted my endearments, had even raised her lips to mine; but that was looking in the face of death at a moment when we need take no thought for the future—at a moment when she had wished to comfort me, and herself stood in need of comfort. But we had emerged from that shadow; there was the future again to be reckoned with, and between us an impalpable but invulnerable veil was stretched which I must never hope to pass.