She turned and found he was looking where Mirza glittered with its companion star. He had written her a poem in which he had likened Mirza to himself, eternally passing through heaven with his tiny friend.
Miranda felt to-night how empty was this fancy.
"You are going away," she said, "and you have never——" She stopped, frightened and ashamed. She wished to run from the place, and she was glad of the dark.
The feeling passed, and she lifted her head, looking at Peter. Her eyes were full of challenge and of fear, of confession, of reserve—the courage of a maid—proud to be as yet untouched, but happy in surrender.
"All that I have—and how beautiful it is!—is yours," was what Peter read.
The tears rushed into her eyes. They both were crying as Peter kissed her. It was the first kiss of lovers two years old, the first delicate breach of their chastity.
Miranda lifted her head upon Peter's arm.
"I want to be with you always," she said. "I cannot bear you to go away."
Footsteps intruded. Uncle Henry had come, God-speeding his nephew. Peter had been missed, and Uncle Henry was coming to find him. Peter felt as if the world were advancing to rob him of something too precious to be lawfully his. He wanted to save Miranda from this intrusion.