"Will you forgive me?" Vanno asked, his eyes holding hers.
"Yes," she said. "And will you forgive me, for not forgiving you?"
"How could you forgive me, when you thought of me as you did? But you know now that you thought wrong."
"Yes. I know. Though I don't know how I know."
"And I know you to be yourself. That means everything. I can't say it in any other way. Because it was your real self I knew at Marseilles—the self I've known always, and waited for, and am unworthy of at last."
"Don't call yourself unworthy."
"I won't talk about that part at all—not yet. I love you—love you! and—God! how I need you."
"And I——"
"You love me?"
He loosed her hands, and catching her up, lifted her off her feet, her slight body crushed against his, her head pressed back; and so he kissed her on the mouth, a long, long kiss that did away with any need of explanation or forgiveness. There was no returning afterward to the old selves again, they both knew before their lips had parted. It was as if they two had climbed to the top of a high tower together, and a door had been shut and locked behind them.