"You said that if I caught you——"
"The race—isn't always—to the swift—" she protested falteringly in her pretty broken English.
"Your promise——"
"I made no promise."
"You'll make it now, the one I've waited for—for weeks—Marishka. Lift up your head."
"No, no," she stammered.
"Then I——"
Renwick caught her in his arms again and turned her chin upward. Her eyes were closed, but as their lips met her figure relaxed in his arms and her head sank upon his shoulder.
"You run very fast, Herr Renwick," she whispered.
"You'll marry me, Marishka?"