“Why should I hate you?” she repeated. “Because Snider told me—he told me that you had promised me to him, but he did not get me. I killed him, as I should like to kill you!”
“Snider lied!” I cried. And then I seized her and held her in my arms, and made her listen to me, though she struggled and fought like a young lioness. “I love you, Victory. You must know that I love you—that I have always loved you, and that I never could have made so base a promise.”
She ceased her struggles, just a trifle, but still tried to push me from her. “You called me a barbarian!” she said.
Ah, so that was it! That still rankled. I crushed her to me.
“You could not love a barbarian,” she went on, but she had ceased to struggle.
“But I do love a barbarian, Victory!” I cried, “the dearest barbarian in the world.”
She raised her eyes to mine, and then her smooth, brown arms encircled my neck and drew my lips down to hers.
“I love you—I have loved you always!” she said, and then she buried her face upon my shoulder and sobbed. “I have been so unhappy,” she said, “but I could not die while I thought that you might live.”
As we stood there, momentarily forgetful of all else than our new found happiness, the ferocity of the bombardment increased until scarce thirty seconds elapsed between the shells that rained about the palace.
To remain long would be to invite certain death. We could not escape the way that we had entered the apartment, for not only was the corridor now choked with debris, but beyond the corridor there were doubtless many members of the emperorl’s household who would stop us.