“What ails thee, Allan?”
“Oh, nothing,” I answered; “only I remembered the story you told me about some man called Kallikrates.”
She frowned.
“And what of Kallikrates, Allan? Is it not enough that for my sins, with tears, empty longings and repentance, I must wait for him through all the weary centuries? Must I also wear the chains of this Kallikrates, to whom I owe many a debt, when he is far away? Say, didst thou see him in that Heaven of thine, Allan, for there perchance he dwells?”
I shook my head and tried to think the thing out while all the time those wonderful eyes of hers seemed to draw the soul from me. It seemed to me that she bent forward and held up her face to me. Then I lost my reason and also bent forward. Yes, she made me mad, and, save her, I forgot all.
Swiftly she placed her hand upon my heart, saying,
“Stay! What meanest thou? Dost love me, Allan?”
“I think so—that is—yes,” I answered.
She sank back upon the couch away from me and began to laugh very softly.
“What words are these,” she said, “that they pass thy lips so easily and so unmeant, perchance from long practice? Oh! Allan, I am astonished. Art thou the same man who some few days ago told me, and this unasked, that as soon wouldst thou think of courting the moon as of courting me? Art thou he who not a minute gone swore proudly that never had his heart and his lips wandered from certain angels whither they should not? And now, and now——?”