"For what reason?" he said.
"That's what I never could remember."
The hand upon her head moved and lightly stroked her cheek; then very gently but with evident determination turned her face upwards. His eyes, green and piercing, looked straight into her soul.
"You think that still?" he asked.
"No." Panting, she answered him; for deep within her, memory stirred afresh. The phantom of her dread lurked once more darkly in the background. The last time those eyes had searched her thus, her soul had been in agony. Wherefore? Wherefore? She struggled to remember.
And then in a flash all was gone. The past went from her. She was back again in the present, with the throbbing consciousness of Max's arms enfolding her, and the overwhelming knowledge that Max loved her filling all her world.
"You're not afraid now," he said.
"No," she answered softly.
"Then—" he set her free, bending to her, his face close to hers—"I may go on 'breathing and hoping,' may I, without running any risk of scaring you away?"
She laughed—a faint, sweet laugh more eloquent than words, realizing fully that, albeit her defences were down, he would not enter her citadel until she gave him leave.