"All my life has been lived only for this; to find you and to tell you what I tell you now. I have no gift of words—I'm only an awkward soldier, but with all my life I love you. Poets may find new words for it, but there is nothing else for a man to say. Just those three words, 'I love you,' to hold the universe and to measure it, for there is nothing else worth keeping in all the world!"
Shaken by his passion, he stood before her with the moonlight full upon his face. His shoulders were straight once more, but his eyes were misty and he breathed hard, like a man in pain.
The girl was sobbing, and very gently he put his arm around her. "Heart's Desire," he said again, "I die to-morrow—will you tell me you love me to-night?"
"I do—I do," she cried, as he drew her closer; "but, oh, you must not talk so! You cannot die to-morrow—you are young—you are strong! Don't! Don't! I must not let you misunderstand! It is not what you think!"
His cry of joy changed to an inarticulate murmur, and his arms stiffened about her as she stood with her face against his breast. "I must be a stone," she sobbed, "or I would care. Don't think I haven't known, for I have; but I've been afraid—I've always been afraid to care, and now I've grown so hard I can't! Pity me—be kind to me—I cannot care, and on my soul I wish I could!"
His arms fell to his sides and she was free. Half fearfully she lifted her lovely, tear-stained face to his. "I wish I could!" she sobbed. "Believe me, upon my soul, I wish I could!"
"Heart's Desire, I would have no words of mine bring tears to your dear eyes. To see you so is worse than death to me. I was a fool and a brute to speak, but the words would come. I have known you were not for me. I have walked in the mire, and you are a star; but sometimes men dream that even a star may descend to lift one up. Forget it, Sweet, forget that I was mad, and if you can, forgive me!"
"I never shall forget," she answered, with her lips still quivering, "for it is the sweetest thing God has yet given to me. But all my life I have been afraid to trust, afraid to yield, and now, when I would, I cannot. It is my punishment, and even though I hurt you, I must be honest with you."
"Sweetheart, the hurt is naught—it is a kindness since it comes from you. I ask your pardon, and remember I shall never speak of it again. Others, perhaps, would say I have had enough—my youth, my strength, and all that makes life fair. I have served my country well and to-morrow I die fighting, as soldiers pray that they may. Women have loved me, and yet— My darling, I die to-morrow—ah, kiss me just once for to-night!"
She was very near him, but she turned her face away. "No," she whispered, "I can't. I will give you nothing unless I give you all."