"Tell me—you will not go?"
Roland caught her hand in his, and, drawing back the gauntlet of kid, he kissed her on the wrist. "I will never leave you now," he answered; "Only promise you will not regret."
"Regret!" She smiled at the speech—or was it a smile? Her lips had moved, but it was as though they had done so in answer to some prompting of her soul. "Regret! Do you remember you asked me what I would think if you remained? Well, I thought, if you did, there were dreams which do come true."
At this avowal she was so radiant yet so troubled that Roland detained her hand. "She really loves," he mused; "and so do I." And it may be, the forest aiding, that, in the answering pressure which he gave, such heart as he had went out and mingled with her own.
"Between us now," he murmured, "it is for all of time."
"Roland, how I waited for you!"
Again her lips moved and she seemed to smile, but now her eyes were no longer in his, they were fixed on some vista visible only to herself. She looked rapt, but she looked startled as well. When a girl first stands face to face with love it allures and it frightens too.
Roland dropped her hand; he caught his horse and mounted it. In a moment he was at her side again.
"Justine!"
And the girl turning to him let her fresh lips meet and rest upon his own. Slowly he disengaged the arm with which he had steadied himself on her waist.