The girl listened thoughtfully, and moved close to her lover; he took her in his arms. She had dreamed of many things to say, but now she only whispered to him, her lips against his ear, the simple message: "I love you, I love you, I love you." Then: "But I forgot," said she, pushing him away, a note of fear in her voice. She straightened the folds of her tunic, and drew the transparent silk close to her full, white bosom. It was all unconscious as the trick of a wooing bird.
"And what did you forget?" he inquired.
"That you are you, and a man," said she, sighing. "In some way it is—it is such a pity, I dare not suffer you to caress me. And yet—and yet, I do love it."
"And your lips," said he, embracing her, "they are to me as the gate of
Elysium!"
"It may be we are now in the islands of the blest and know them not," she whispered.
She tried to draw herself away.
"I will not let you go. Indeed, I cannot let you go."
"And I am glad," she answered, with a little laugh, her hand caressing his brow. "I do love the feel of your arms and your lips—beautiful son of Varro!"
"I will not let you go until—until you have promised to be my bride.
Think, the term is only two years."
"Be it one or many, I will be your bride," said she. "And although you were never to return, yet would I always wait for you and think of this day."