She stretched out her arms to him, crying brokenly:
"Oh, Peter—Peter—"
At the sound, of her low, shaken voice, with its infinite appeal for understanding, the iron control he had been forcing on himself snapped asunder, and he caught her in his arms, kissing her with the fierce hunger of a man who has been starved of love.
She leaned against him, physically unable to resist, and deep down in her heart glad that she could not. For the moment everything was swept away in an anguish of happiness—in the ecstasy of burning kisses crushed against her mouth and throat and the strained clasp of arms locked round her.
"My woman!" he muttered unsteadily. "My woman!"
She could feel the hard beating of his heart, and her slender body trembled in his arms with an answering passion that sprang from the depths of her being. Forgetful of everything, save only of each other and their great love, their lips clung together.
Presently he tilted her head back. Her face was white, the shadowed eyes like two dark stains on the ivory bloom of a magnolia.
"Beloved! . . . Nan, say that you love me—let me hear you say it!"
"You know!" Her voice shook uncontrollably. "You don't need to ask me, Peter. It—it hurts to love anyone as I love you."
His hold tightened round her.