He lay quiet against her—his face on her bosom. She was thrilled by this sweet pressure.
"Have you been happy?" she asked.
"No."
"Nor I, dear!"
He turned his face—not to her: to the flaming cross above the church. She had invited a question. But he made no response.
"Nor I," she repeated.
Still he gazed at the cross. It was shining in a black cloud—high in the sky. She felt him tremble.
"Hold me tight!" he said.
She drew him to her—glad to have him ask her to: having no disquieting question.
"Tighter!" he implored.