"Hugh, you mean you won't go?" Joy from a surcharged heart rang vibrant in every syllable uttered in that marvellous voice.
But now he dared meet her eyes. "Yes," he said, "I won't go"—nodding, with an apologetic shadow of his twisted smile. "I can't if ... if it distresses you."
"Oh, my dear, my dear!"
Whitaker started, staggered with amaze, and the burden of his wife in his arms. Her own arms clipped him close. Her fragrant tear-gemmed face brushed his. He knew at last the warmth of her sweet mouth, the dear madness of that first caress.
The breathless seconds spun their golden web of minutes. They did not move. Round them the silence sang like the choiring seraphim....
Then through the magical hush of that time when the world stood still, the thin, clear vibrations of a distant hail:
"Aho-oy!"
In his embrace his wife stiffened and lifted her head to listen like a startled fawn. As one their hearts checked, paused, then hammered wildly. With a common impulse they started apart.
"You heard—?"
"Listen!" He held up a hand.