"Oh, do you understand, Gail?" he whispered doubtfully. "Can you—without knowing?"
He had her hands in both his and strained forward, his face close to hers. The small, firm fingers clutched his hardened ones almost desperately and the blue eyes, so wide now, looking at him so earnestly, were filmed with tears.
"I think I've understood all along," she said, keeping her voice even at the cost of great effort. "I don't know it all—the detail, I mean. I don't need to. I know you've been fighting, VB, nobly, bravely. I know—"
He rose to his feet and drew her up with him, pulling her close to him, closer and closer. One arm slipped down over her shoulders, uncertainly, almost timidly. His face bent toward hers, slowly, tenderly, and she lifted her lips to meet it. It was the great moment of his life. Words were out of place; they would have been puerile, disturbing sounds, a mockery instead of an agency to convey an idea of the strength of his emotions. He could feel her breath on his cheek, and for an instant he hung above her, delaying the kiss, trembling with the tremendous passion within him.
And then he backed away from her—awkwardly, threatening to fall, a limp hand raised toward the girl as though to warn her off.
"Oh, Gail, forgive me!" he moaned. "Not yet! Great God, Gail, I'm not worthy!"
His hoarse voice mounted and he stood backed against the far wall, fists clenched and stiff arms upraised. She took a faltering step toward him.
"Don't!" she begged. "You are—you—"
But he was gone into the night, banging the door behind him, while the girl leaned against her piano and let the tears come.
He was not worthy! He loved; she knew he loved; she had come to meet that great binding, enveloping emotion willingly, frank with the joy of it, as became her fine nature. Then he had run from her, and for her own sake! All the ordeals he had been through in those last months were as brief, passing showers compared with the tempest that raged in him as he rode through the night; and it continued through the hours of light and of darkness for many days. Young VB was a man who feared his own love, and beyond that there can be no greater horror.