He stopped breathing. His embrace of her relaxed.
And then he saw remembrance—recognition—welcome—and there blazed into her eyes such a look of whole love as makes men thrill to all good; such a look as makes them know they are men, and dare all great deeds to show it. Like a sunrise, it flooded her face with dear, wondrous beauties,—and still she looked, silent, motionless,—in an ecstasy of pure realisation. Then her arms closed about his neck with a swift little rushing, and he—still half-doubting, still curious—felt himself strained to her. Still more closely she clung, putting out with her intensity all his misgiving.
She sought his lips with her own—eager, pressing.
"Kiss me—kiss me—kiss me! Oh, it's all true—all true! My best-loved dream has come all true! I have rested so in your arms. I never knew rest before. I can't remember when I haven't awakened to doubt, and worry, and heart-sickness. And now it's peace—dear, dear, dearest dear, for ever and ever and ever."
They sat up.
"Now we shall go—get me away quickly."
It was nearly seven. Outside the sky was still all gloom.
In the rush of her reassurance he had forgotten his arm. It hung limp from his shoulder.
"It was cramped."
"And you didn't move it?"