He came nearer—nearer. Now he stood beside her, and the wind swept suddenly between them, and eddying, drove a great swathe of her unfastened hair across his breast. David put up his hand and touched the hair.
“But I can’t see your face,” he said, in a strange, complaining note. “The moon shines on your hair, but not upon your face. Show me your face—your face——”
She moved, and the moon shone on her. Her face was as white as ivory. Her eyes wide and dark—as dark as the darkening sky. They stood in silence, and the moon sank low.
Then David put out his hands and touched her on the breast.
“Now I have seen your face,” he said. “Now I am content because I have seen your face. I have gone hungry for the sight of it, and have gone thirsty for the love of you, and all the years I have never seen your face.”
“And now——?”
Elizabeth’s voice came in a whisper.
“Now I am content.”
“Why?”
“Your face is the face of Love,” said David Blake.