"Indiana!" He pressed her to his heart, with the feeling that they were on holy ground, even standing at the altar, and the sacred seal had just been set to their union.
Indiana raised her head, the tears trembling on her lashes. "I'll never break out again."
"Yes, you will, but next time I will have love to help me. Indiana, look at me—look at me. I cannot realize it—my wife loves me! Do you remember one day, in the Adirondacks, out on the lake, at that weird place called the Devil's Pulpit? I think—yes, it was the first day I spent with you—you wanted a story, and I gave you a part of my inmost life—do you remember?"
"Yes, I remember—how clearly I remember. The great, black rock hanging over us; the blue mountains in the distance; your voice, telling me of the weaver—"
"Indiana, his dream has come true—at last. 'And the web, transformed into a gleaming fabric of light, gladdened the soul of the weaver.'"
Indiana drew a little space away, quoting his own words, with uplifted hands, "'And as he wove he heard singing, a choir of beautiful, jubilant voices.'"
Thurston looked into her eyes, then held out his arms. "I hear them, Indiana!"
THE END.
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The Invaders