"You mustn't speak to me like this."
"And why not? You're mine to speak to as I please. Is it that you don't love me enough, alanah?"
He knew that she wouldn't have asked that question, if she hadn't already seen the answer in his eyes.
"Love you——?" he began, his eyes shining like stars. And then suddenly, as though their very glow had burned them out, they turned away, dull and lusterless. She watched him anxiously for a moment and then rose and faced him.
"Well——" she said softly, "I'm waiting for your answer."
"I—I can't give you an answer," he said in a colorless voice.
"Then I'll be giving the answer for you, my dear, for I'm not without eyes in my head. I know you love me and I've been knowing it for many days. And it's the kind of love that a woman wants, the love that gives and asks nothing." She paused, breathing with difficulty, the warm color rising to her temples, and then went on gently, proudly, as though in joy of her confession. "And I—it is the same with me. I've tried to make you understand.... It is not for you to give only...." She halted in her speech a moment and then came close to him, her clear gaze seeking his. "I love you, not for what you have suffered, dear——" she whispered, "but for what you are to me—not because you are my husband, but because you are you—the only one in all the world for me."
"Moira," he whispered, tensely, as his arms went about her. "God forgive me—I worship you."
"God will forgive you that, alanah," he heard her say happily, "since I do."
He touched his lips to her brow tenderly ... then her lips.