Gerald’s pulses leaped at those last words, but he dared not betray how they had moved him, and so he replied with what composure he could:
“But that—the accident—only interrupted things for a little while.”
“Yes, thanks to you,” said Allison, as she laid her hand upon the back of his chair, and bent to look into his upturned face. “Oh, Gerald! what should we have done if you had not been there? I shall never forget how you seemed to know just what to do—never! You dear, brave, splendid hero!”
Actuated by the impulse of the moment, and the gratitude of her tender heart, she leaned forward and lightly touched his brow with her sweet, red lips.
Then, frightened at what she had done, she would have fled, but Gerald, every nerve in his body thrilling with ecstasy from that soft caress, sprang to his feet, seized her hands, and drew her gently toward him, looking eagerly down into her blushing face.
“Allison! Allison!” he whispered, all the mighty love within him breaking every barrier down and asserting its God-given right to speak for itself.
There was no mistaking the emotion that vibrated through every syllable of that tenderly uttered name, and, like a flash, it revealed to the beautiful girl what she was to Gerald Winchester—what he was to her, and would be for all time. She lifted one startled, comprehending look to him.
“Gerald!” she breathed softly; then their lips met in a mute caress.
The next instant the young lover found himself alone.