"I knew it when you went away last summer," said Ghisleri. "And then I thought I should never tell you."
"And I found it out when I left you," answered Laura. "I found that I could not live without you and be happy. Did you guess nothing when I made you come to me yesterday? Yesterday—only yesterday! It seems like last year. Did you think it was mere friendship?"
"Yes, I thought it was that and nothing more—but such friendship as I had never dreamed of."
"Nor any one else, perhaps," said Laura, with a happy smile. "For I would have come, you know, in spite of every one. What would you have done then, I wonder?"
"Then? Do not speak of yesterday. What could I have done? Could I have told you that I loved you with such an accusation hanging over me? No, you know that. It was only yesterday that I asked you to let me leave you rather suddenly—did you not guess the reason?"
"I thought you were ill—no—well, it crossed my mind that you might be a little, just a little, in love with me." She laughed.
"I felt ill afterwards. I was horrified when I thought how nearly I had spoken."
"And why should you not have spoken, if it was in your heart?" asked Laura, taking his hand again. "Why should you have thought, even for a moment, that I could care what people said. You are you, and I am I, whether the world is with us or against us. And I think, dear, that we shall need the world very little now. Perhaps it will change its mind and pretend it needs us."
"There is no doubt of that. It always happens so. Why should we care?" He paused a moment, then, as his eyes met hers, the great dominating passion broke out again: "Ah—darling—heart's heart—beloved! There are not words to tell you how I love you and bless you, and worship you with all my soul. What can I say, what can I do, to make you understand?"
"Love me, dear," she said, "and be faithful, as I will be." And their lips met again.