He made no answer. He leant against her with closed eyes. The hurricane of galloping hoofs rolled past. She kissed him lightly, tenderly—"Tristram——"
His eyes opened. Their faces were quite close. Their gaze became fixed, intoxicated, deepening in intensity till it seemed as though they held each other, were drawn closer and closer in an embrace of fire which burnt out every intervening thought and consciousness. Suddenly, violently, he sprang up, pushing her from him, and lurched towards the door.
"I've got—to—see after things—there'll be an escort for you at the bridge-head—later—I'll keep guard outside——"
She also had risen as swift and soundless as a panther. She stood by the table upright and exultant, a point of light shining in her eyes.
"Stay here—here with me. If you go, it is because you're afraid——"
"Afraid——?" He swung round, his hand still on the door. "Of whom?"
"Of me—of yourself. You promised to be honest with me. This was to be our day of days for which no one should demand reckoning. It is not ended yet. You were honest once. That was when you thought we were going to be killed. Then you dared to own to what I know already—that you belonged to me—as I perhaps belong to you—to our fate—a fate neither of us can escape, Tristram——"
He remained motionless; she could see the rise and fall of his great chest.
"It isn't wise to be honest," he said thickly. "I'm afraid, if you like—afraid of myself. You'd better let me go."
"Back to your dreams? But they're gone. You were just a grown-up boy, playing with a fancy. Now you are a man and I am a woman. We've got to deal with the reality now."