"I know I loved you from that moment too," she answered simply, lifting her lips for his kiss.
There followed another spell of enchanted silence, broken only by the low lullaby of the night wind in the trees, and then the man spoke again.
"Smiles, are you still greatly afraid of the sea?"
"No, dear, I should not be, if you were with me. It is strange; but I lost most of the old, unreasoning fear the moment that I made up my mind to jump into it that afternoon. But, why do you ask that now, Donald?" He did not reply at once, and she continued, "I think that I know, and the same thought was in my own mind. Is it that you want to go to France again, to renew the saving work there,—and want me with you?"
He nodded slowly.
"If you hadn't suggested it, I should have, Don; for now I am doubly prepared for the work I began to long to do, so many years ago. I am not only trained for it, but I have you beside me, to comfort and strengthen me, always.
"Yes, dear," she went on softly. "Some day, God grant, we shall have little ones of our own to care for; but, until that beautiful time comes, there are no less precious babies throughout all the world—and there, especially—crying for us to help them. We must give of our best to them, for, weak, tender and helpless as they are, the hope of the world is in its babies."
Through the dark tree-tops the new-born moon appeared on the breast of night, around it a misty halo like that about the head of the Infant who came nineteen centuries ago, typifying the hope of all mankind.
"Look," said Donald. "Our honeymoon wears a halo."
"Because it is a hallowed moon," answered Rose.