"You, Monsieur Rowlan'!" she whispered in French.
"Tanya!"
Their fingers touched--their hands--and then a stronger impulse urged as he saw the look in the eyes turned up to his. She faltered a moment but he caught her close to him and held her there. If this was the sanctuary she had awaited she had surely found it.
"Tanya," he was whispering. "I've found you. Won't you tell me that you are glad?"
She moved a little in his arms, but he only held her closer.
"Glad. Yes, Monsieur Rowlan', I'm glad," she murmured. "But at first I could not believe----"
"What does it matter so long as I've found you? Your heart, Tanya--have I found that too?"
She made no sound, but her head sank a little lower on his breast. The tip of one ear only was visible in the confusion of her ruddy hair. He kissed it.
"Answer me, Tanya," he insisted. "Your heart. It's that I've come for. Will you give it to me?"
He felt her fingers press his own, felt her slender figure relax in his arms, as she raised her head, while her grave eyes met his in one luminous moment and then were hidden by the long lashes under which two small tears trembled and fell.