"Yes, Martin."
"And that, my love, be it what it may, is yet an honest love?"
"Yes, dear Martin."
Here was silence a while, she looking up at the moon, and I at her.
"I broke my oath to you once," says I, "nor will I swear again, but, dear my lady, know this: though I do hunger and thirst for you, yet mine is such reverent love that should we live thus together long years—aye, until the end of our lives, I will school myself to patience and wait ever upon your will. Though 'twill be hard!" says I 'twixt my teeth, thrilling to the sudden clasp of her fingers.
"But, Martin," says she softly, "how if our days together here should all suddenly end—"
"End?" cries I, starting, "Wherefore end? When? Why end?" And I trembled in a sick panic at the mere possibility. "End?" quoth I again, "Would you have an end?"
"No—ah no!" says she leaning to me that I could look down into her eyes.
"Doth this—O Damaris, can this mean that you are happy with me in this solitude—content—?"
"So happy, Martin, so content that I do fear lest it may all suddenly end and vanish like some loved dream."