His own face contracted. "Do not let us torture ourselves in vain," he urged her gently.
"But it is true!" she persisted.
He hesitated an instant. "Yes, it is true," he said.
She leaned her head back, looking him straight in the eyes. There was a light in hers that he had never seen before. They gleamed like stars, seeing him only. "Bertie," she said, and her voice thrilled upon the words, "I was yours then, and I am yours now. I have always belonged to you, and you to me. Bertie, I—am coming with you."
His violent start testified to the utter unexpectedness of her announcement. Such a possibility had not, it was obvious, suggested itself to him. He turned white to the lips.
"Christine!" he stammered incredulously.
Feverishly she broke in upon his astonishment. "Oh, don't be shocked! It is absolutely the only way. I cannot stay here without you. Trevor will keep us apart. He will not let me even write to you. He says that our friendship must cease. And it cannot—it cannot! Bertie, don't you see? Don't you understand? Don't you—want me?"
A note of despair rang in her voice. Her hands suddenly gripped each other in agonized misgiving. But on the instant his gripped closer, holding them crushed against his breast in fierce reassurance. His eyes shone full into hers, and for one moment of fiery rapture which both were to remember all their lives their souls mingled, became fused in one, forgetful of all beside.
Out of the silence the man's voice came, low and passionate. "Le bon Dieu knows how I want you, my bird of Paradise! But yet—but yet—" Something seemed to choke his utterance. He gave a sudden gasp, and bowed his head forward upon her shoulder.
Her arms were round him in an instant. "What is it, dearest? You are ill!"