“Oh yes, with all my heart.”
“You're going to be my wife.”
“Ye—es, if—if—”
“All right, we'll put down the ifs. I want you to promise that if this foolish spell, or whatever it is, is broken tonight—if nothing happens at half-past twelve, and you don't have this bad dream, then you'll forget the whole miserable business and marry me tomorrow. There! Will you?”
“Oh, Chris! Tomorrow?”
“Yes, tomorrow! I'm not a psychologist or a doctor, but I believe I can cure you myself. Will you promise, Pen?”
Her eyes brimmed with tears of gratitude and fondness.
“You want me—anyway?”
“Anyway.”
“Then I say—yes! I will! I will! Oh my love!” She drew him slowly down to her and kissed his eyes gently, her face radiant with sweetness and purity. A moment later the chimes rang out twelve.