She struggled back.
“No, no!” she cried wildly. “Oh, you must not—you must not!”
“Must not!” His voice rang his challenge to the world. The blood was pounding in mad abandon through his veins. His soul itself seemed aflame. Closer, closer he drew her to him. “Must not! There is only you and me—and our love—on all the earth!”
But still she struggled—-and then suddenly the tears came.
“Oh, you are so strong—so strong,” she sobbed—and like some weary child finding rest her head dropped upon his shoulder and lay hidden there.
“Claire! Claire!” It was his soul that spoke.
He kissed the silken hair, and fondled it; and kissed the tear-wet eyes; and his cheek lay against hers; and she was in his arms, and he held her there tight-clasped so that she might never go again.
And after a time she sobbed no more; and her hand, lifting, found his face and touched it gently, and creeping upward, brushed the hair back from his forehead—and then suddenly she clung to him with all her strength and drew his head down until her lips met his.
And there was no world about them, and time was non-existent, and only they two lived.
It was Claire at last who put his arms from her in a wistful, lingering way.