In one of the wrecked approaches to the terrace, surrounded by fragments of stone and confronted by ugly destruction, sat a young man and a slender girl. There were no lights near them; the shadows were black and forbidding. This particular end of the terrace had suffered most in the fierce rain of cannon-balls. So great was the devastation here that one attained the position held by the couple only by means of no little daring and at the risk of unkind falls. From where they sat they could see the long vista of lighted windows and yet could not themselves be seen.
His arm was about her; her head nestled securely against his shoulder and her slim hands were willing prisoners in one of his.
She was saying "Truxton, dear, I did not love Eric Vos Engo. I just thought it was love. I never really knew what love is until you came into my life. Then I knew the difference. That's what made it so hard. I had let him believe that I might care for him some day. And I did like him. So I—"
"You are sure—terribly sure—that I am the only man you ever really loved?" he interrupted.
She snuggled closer. "Haven't I just told you that I didn't know what it was until—well, until now?"
"You will never, never know how happy I am, Loraine!" he breathed into her ear.
"I hope I shall always bring happiness to you, Truxton," she murmured, faint with the joy of loving.
"You will make me very unhappy if you don't marry me to-morrow."
"I couldn't think of it!"
"I don't ask you to think. If you do, you may change your mind completely. Just marry me without thinking, dearest."