"Ah, you don't know him as I do!" and she sighed—"He stops at nothing. He will employ any base tool, any mean spy, to gain his own immediate purposes. And—and—" she hesitated—"you know I wrote to you about it—-he saw us in the picture gallery—-"
"Well!" said John, and his eyes kindled into a sudden light and fire—"What if he did?"
"You were telling me how much you disliked seeing women smoke"—she faltered—"And—and—you spoke of Psyche,—you remember—-"
"I remember!" And John grew bolder and more resolute in spirit as he saw the soft rose flush on her cheeks and listened to the dulcet tremor of her voice—"I shall never forget!"
"And he thought—he thought—-" here her words sank almost to a whisper—"that I—that you—-"
He turned suddenly and looked down upon her where she lay. Their eyes met,—and in that one glance, love flashed a whole unwritten history. Stooping over her, he caught her little hands in his own, and pressed them against his heart with strong and passionate tenderness.
"If he thought I loved you,"—he said—"he was right! I loved you then—I love you now!—I shall love you for ever—till death, and beyond it! My darling, my darling! You know I love you!"
A half sob, a little smile answered him,—and then soft, broken words.
"Yes—I know!—I always knew!"
He folded his arms about her, and drew her into an embrace from which he wildly thought not Death itself should tear her.