He slipped his arms beneath her and drew her to his breast. "It is not a dream, Avery," he told her very earnestly. "I am here in the flesh. I am holding you."
"I know," she said. "It's always so."
The weary conviction of her tone smote cold to his heart. He gathered her closer still. He pressed his lips to her forehead.
"Avery, can't you feel me?" he said.
Her head sank against his shoulder. "Yes—yes," she said. "But you have always done that."
"Done what, darling?"
"Imposed your will on mine—made me feel you." Her voice quivered; she began to cry a little, weakly, like a tired child. "Do you remember—what you said—about—about—the ticket of leave?" she said. "You leave your dungeon—my poor Piers. But you have to go back again—when the leave has expired. And I—I am left alone."
The tears were running down her face. He wiped them tenderly away.
"My dearest, if you want me—if you need me,—I will stay," he said.
"But you can't," she said hopelessly. "Even to-night—even to-night—I thought you were never coming. And I went at last to look for you—behind your iron bars. But, oh, Piers, the agony of it! And I couldn't reach you after all, though I tried so hard—so hard."